I have vivid memories of a major ice storm when I was a child. The first morning was stunningly, brutally beautiful; every twig of every tree seemed to have been dipped in liquid glass. When the sun shone, the dazzle of all that ice against the blue sky was almost too intense to look at. It was exciting at first-- there was no school, and I thought sleeping in a tent in the living room was vastly more fun than sleeping in bed. Ditto cooking on a camp stove in the kitchen and eating by candlelight. But after a week without power, the enchantment wore off, even for a gung-ho six-year-old. The adults, I imagine now, had probably lost their enthusiasm for the situation long before.
About a month ago my town was hit by a much less serious storm, which left a light glaze of ice on trees, power lines, and streets. The forecasts were dire, though, so out came the sleeping bags, flashlights, camp stove and candles. (It probably didn't help that I had just finished reading Erik Larson's book Isaac's Storm, which tells the story of a devastating hurricane in Gavelston, Texas in 1900 and whose overarching message is: "Respect and fear the weather. We humans do not know as much about it as we think.") As it turned out, the preparations weren't necessary, but the storm-that-wasn't did infuse the day with a little excitement. Nevertheless, I've decided I'm ready for spring.