The alarm coaxed me to a semi-awake state.
I stiffly stumbled to the now urgently ringing bell and ineffectively tried to find the off button.
“Why did I put the clock on the other side of the room? Five more minutes,” I said to myself.
I would have set the snooze alarm, but it was a new clock and I hadn’t taken the time to read that part of the instructions.
With great faith in my ability to judge the passage of time while sleeping and with the back up urgings of a seven cats on the edge of starvation, I crawled back into the warm covers to contemplate the day ahead.
Twenty minutes later, and in a slight panic about the time, I descended the stairs to the scent of freshly brewed coffee.
Normally all of the major appliances in our house collapse at the same time.
Fortunately for us, it was only the bedroom clock and the coffee maker that had recently gone to their final rewards.
Along with a clock with numbers you could read across the room, I splurged on a coffee pot that starts to brew your coffee for you just like an electrically driven fantasy spouse.
Hot coffee and the morning newspaper are some of my favorite combinations.
I could tell even before I opened the front door that it had snowed.
There is an unmistakable silence that accompanies new fallen snow. It was still snowing hard making the roadway of First Street disappear into the sidewalks creating a luscious blanket of silent white.
The two cars in the driveway were only sculpted mounds of their former selves.
I listened for the sound of childhood joy…It was going to be a snow day.
The small kitchen TV verified my guess.
I fed the worrying cat, poured myself a cup of coffee and began to plan a day with no plans, the joy of adulthood, the serendipity of having a legitimate reason to stay home and do nothing.
Realistically there are no snow days for me now, but unplowed streets meant, most probably unplowed roads and I no longer had a four wheel drive car. So, using the end of a broom handle to search for the paper, I began my day unfettered by the guilt of doing nothing. An adult snow day.
I sat in the dining room window seat, hands cupped around the coffee and watched the snow fall.
The bird bath, partially dismantled to prevent water damage in freezing temperatures was completely obliterated.
The Japanese maple, a study in white, filled the eastern corner of the yard with a winter portrait. The two bird feeders hanging from its branches had accumulations of snow that created the appearance of whimsical pagodas.
The roof of the storage shed showed what appeared to be at least a foot of snow repeating the roof shape and line creating another visual delight.
Thoughts of work that should be done tried to intrude.
There was always the laundry, rearranging the pantry, cleaning out the basement storage area and, if prodded, there was work that I could do on line, but not today.
Another cup of hot coffee, a warm blanket, my fuzzy slippers, very warm robe and I had settled into the big chair in the family room in front of the fire with my latest book and the TV.
No, not today.
There would be no “shoulds” accomplished today.
This day was a gift wrapped in fleecy white, a serendipity accepted.
I would watch daytime TV, perhaps find an old movie, read my book club selection, make my old favorite lunch of a fried egg sandwich, drink tea that I made in my grandmother’s brown betty tea pot, take a nap and all of everything else would wait until tomorrow.
Superannuated joy!