I was never a great swimmer, but I had the rudiments.
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Ah, the New England Blizzard of 1978. A storm so legendary it should have its own theme song, sung by a baritone with a healthy dose of post-traumatic stress. You know, something like “The Snow Drifts Were High, the Power Was Out, and My Shovel Became My Best Friend (And It Judged Me Silently).”

In Arlington, MA where I lived we were not spared the whiteout wrath. Picture this: me, a wide-eyed 20-something, armed with a plastic shovel that looked like it belonged on a children’s sandbox (because, well, it did). I dug, I huffed, I puffed, and managed to unearth my trusty Buick, christened “Rusty” for reasons unrelated to that current situation.

Victory! Except… not quite. Stepping out of my car turned snow-fort, I realized the world outside was a marshmallowy wasteland. Drifts towered like Arctic mountains, mocking my optimism. Any attempt to drive would have resulted in Rusty becoming a permanent snow sculpture with me as its shivering, frostbitten driver.

So, here I was, inside of my snowy Buick castle. My domain? The limited radius of my shoveling prowess. Entertainment? The radio, crackling with static and promises of a “major thaw” that seemed about as likely as winning the lottery with a chewed-up Megabucks ticket.

But hey, a blizzard like this is practically a rite of passage in New England. It’s when the true grit of us New England peoples shine through, or at least, when we discover our hidden talent for hoarding snacks. Because let’s face it, overcoming a blizzard without a well-stocked pantry is like facing a dragon without a sword (I myself would need at least a decent pizza cutter).

Thankfully, my foresight (or maybe just a severe case of potato chip-induced addiction) had me prepared. My fridge and pantry shelves had become a cornucopia of questionable frozen dinners, dubious canned goods, and enough raw pasta to fuel a small army of college students. I may not have been able to leave my snowy castle but I could conquer Mount Snackrifice with the gusto of a famished Yeti.

Days turned into nights, the only clock the rising and setting sun filtering through my blizzard-blurred windows. My social life, already questionable, became nonexistent. But in the quiet solitude, a strange sense of camaraderie bloomed. I waved at my neighbors through the window, their equally snowbound existence mirrored in their bewildered expressions. We were all in this together, united by our shared struggle against the Great White Buffalo (or whatever you call a blizzard with a superiority complex).

Finally, the thaw arrived. Slowly, the snowdrifts receded, revealing a world blinking in the sunlight like a sleepy owl. ‘Rusty’, freed from his icy prison, sputtered back to life with a cough and a wheeze. The world outside, though still scarred by the storm, was slowly returning to normal.

As I drove through the slush-filled streets, the experience left a strange imprint. Sure, it was inconvenient, messy, and frankly, a little scary. But it was also oddly… liberating? A reminder that sometimes, the most important things are the simple ones: a warm car, a full fridge, and the knowledge that even in the face of a blizzard, the human spirit (and a well-stocked pantry) can prevail.

So, the next time a winter storm threatens to turn my world into one giant snowball I will remember the Blizzard of ’78, embrace the absurdity, stock up on snacks, and definitely invest in a better shovel. Because who knows, I might just find myself the unlikely hero of my own snowbound adventure – again. Consider yourselves warned and don’t blame me if your only companions are a chorus of hungry squirrels and a fridge full of questionable leftovers.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden craving for pasta and a strong urge to check the weather forecast. You know, just in case…

–30–

I developed an awe of the men (I never saw a woman) who worked for CalTrans at all hours and conditions, keeping the roads open. 
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I don’t remember snow days when I was in school. That’s because school never closed for snow or cold winter days. We had warm hats, scarves, mittens, boots, and snowsuits. Think Ralph’s little brother in A Christmas Story. And we walked to and from school. So, it’s no surprise that I pulled my three little kids on a sled to school one snowy day so the oldest two could go to school, only to discover school was closed. This was my first encounter with snow days.

In my defense, the internet, cell phones, texting, etc. didn’t exist back then. I’m not sure how I was supposed to know it was a snow day. Maybe I missed the call from the school secretary while I was pulling that sled. My memory is that snow days were infrequent for my kids and a fun break from school. Because there so few of them, I don’t recall having to make them up at the end of the school year.

For my grandkids, snow days were more frequent. In January, 2014, we experienced a snow/cold snap that extended Winter Vacation by several days. At this point, most parents were suffering from frozen spirits and minds, numbed by the challenge of finding even more indoor activities for their housebound children, who had missed 18 days of school and counting … Traditional winter delights were out:

• No sledding – too cold
• No ice skating – not only too cold but how to find the ice under all of that snow
• No field trips – car is also frozen

That January, my four-year-old grandson “attended” preschool five half-days a week in Indiana. I use the term “attended” loosely because since winter vacation ended January 3, he had gone to school five times. That’s right, he had 14 “snow” days before finally returning to school. That same winter, my local granddaughters spent several days playing in my basement when it was too cold to go outside for a chunk of time that extended Winter Vacation an extra week.

That did leave lots of screen (and screaming) time. One of the days, I asked my 7-year-old granddaughter to make a list of what we could do to entertain ourselves while the -45 wind-chill raged outside.  Here’s her 9-point plan:

1. Bake a challah
2. Balloons (as in blow up, tie, and hit with an old badminton racket)
3. Wacky string (to be squirted all over my basement)
4. Bowling (home plastic version with her keeping score and mysteriously beating her sisters)
5. Roller blades and scooters (also all over my basement)
6. Dance to What Does the Fox Say?
7. Have a pajama party
8. Watch a movie (maybe The Swan Princess for the 25^th time)
9. Maybe do a hard puzzle or build something with Legos

My grandkids may have been bored, but at least they were safe. What about all of the kids whose parents didn’t have sitters or grandmothers crazy enough to entertain them? Snow days create tough choices for them. I doubt their employers gave them paid snow days off of work, so they had to choose between non-paid time off work, the threat of losing their job, or leaving their kids home alone. For some children, school is their safe haven and the place where they receive two of their daily meals. Was anyone thinking about them?

I know from 25 years of personal experience as a preschool administrator how hard it is to make the decision to close school. Generally, we did it whenever our local public schools also closed. And that was almost always due to massive amounts of snow and ice making travel dangerous and parking impossible.

On days I kept the school open despite bad weather, mostly because our public schools were also open, teachers were surprised that people showed up – lots of them. Maybe these parents had older kids and were out anyhow. Maybe they had children with special needs for whom a break in the routine was a disaster. Maybe they walked, pulling their kids in sleds, veterans of Chicago-style winters. I made no judgments regarding their decision to come or about parents who opted to keep their children home.

Here’s a great snow day story. The superintendent of Brownsburg, Indiana schools decided to keep schools open on a snowy, cold January day during the years when the weather was more typical of midwestern winters. He was deluged by tweets and Facebook posts decrying the decision. One parent asked, “How would you like to stand at the bus stop with my kids in this weather?” His answer was, “Sure, tell me when and where.”  He showed up at her bus stop with shirts for the kids that said #Bulldog Strong and waited with them for that bus. Bravo for literally taking a stand on this issue.

These days, we have gotten to the point of closing schools based on weather forecasts, which are often wrong. Now that schools, post-pandemic, are capable of having remote learning days, there are even more school closings, but instead of snow days when kids could play outside (weather permitting), they are stuck in front of a computer doing zoom lessons. I think romping in piles of snow or playing in grandma’s basement for a good, old-fashioned snow day is probably better for kids in the long run.

 

 

“My ex-husband thought of himself as a ‘breast man.’” She paused. “What have I gotten myself tangled up with here? A ‘floor man?’”
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The first charm is the card above, which was made for and given to me by my fairy godmother, Lenora Perkins.  Lenora taught me to shrug off stress.  She never prescribed anything to anyone.  I learned this by watching her.

If a situation aggravated Lenora, she’d stop, compose herself, stare into space for a few seconds, to understand and master both the experience and her emotions, and then…she’d shrug, you know, hunch both shoulders a little toward her ears, lower them.  Then she’d shake her head, slow and thoughtful, and then she’d move on, usually commenting on something she found cheerful.

If the source of aggravation was an arrogant, pretentious person, she’d fix them with her stare, and then signify her recognition of them by making a classic gesture.  She’d place one forefinger below the tip of her nose and slowly push her head back until it attained haute haughtiness, which was both a mirror and a sharp rejection. Then she’d lower her head, shrug, shake her head, and either walk away or begin a cheerful, unrelated conversation with a by-stander.

In the Blandings novels of P G Wodehouse, there is a character named Uncle Fred, who says his mission in life is to “spread sweetness and light.”  That was Lenora.  She was brilliant, sweet, and exuberant.

 

The second charm is a poem written by Marion Mackles, a third grader at PS 61 in New York around 1970.  This poem appears in Wishes, Lies, and Dreams: Teaching Children to Write Poetry, by Kenneth Koch.  The phrase “swan of bees” is correct, and wonderful.

 

I saw a fancy dancy dress

hanging on a fancy dancy window

of red roses you could call it a red

rose window I put it on and I

danced to a swan of bees I put

it on a chair of rock and I looked

at the sky of hand I put on

my fancy dancy dress I fell

asleep and I had a dream

of a blue sky of roses and a

house of daisies

 

and I awoke and it was true

I saw everything I saw

sky of roses house of daisies a tree

of orange a book of apple and

I loved it all and I lived with it for

the rest of my life

 

I began a new job in May, 1981. I had interviewed for it for quite some time, (Walt at MDS), and had to convince two hardcore male chauvinists that I was the right person for the job, though my immediate supervisor was enthusiastic about hiring me. The two older men hired a man my age (with less experience) at the same time…just in case I didn’t work out, so I came into the company with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. The product was a combination of expensive software and consulting services. It had a long, complicated sales cycle. I was (of course) the only woman (I was in my late 20s at the time of my hire) and there were only a few on the sales side.

The company was founded to do marketing brand models. Our side of the company was comprised of smart MBA-types who implemented the large-scale financial and marketing modeling using decision support systems, an innovative technology, supported by the multi-dimensional proprietary software that was used by our company, now available for sale, called Express. It was true that I had limited knowledge of both software and business. Yet with my theater background, I had outstanding presentation skills, had been a successful salesperson in a tech-adjacent industry for over three years, had excellent follow-up skills and could always bring along one of those smart MBA-types for follow-on presentations to customize presentations and explain the usage of Express for each customer’s needs. But learning how to present this product took time and my new mentor and I went on a lot of calls together for many months.

In early August I went on my annual trip back to my beloved camp in Northern Michigan with my dear friend Christie to see the operetta, sing with the high school choir and hang out with our former teachers. We did this for a decade; it was a constant on our calendar, an oasis of joy and refreshment of the spirit. We shared a small cabin and talked about everything. During this visit, I commented that I had a period that hadn’t ended. I bled for 5 weeks. Christie does not suffer fools lightly. She looked at with me with concern. “Betsy, that’s not normal! You should see your doctor as soon as you return home.” Of course she was correct. But I had a history of irregular periods and breakthrough bleeding. I was not in pain, no cramping or fever, so I hadn’t been concerned.

I called my doctor’s office as soon as I returned to Boston. He was on vacation, and given my history of irregular periods, his partner wouldn’t see me. He told me to wait for my doctor to return the following Monday, which I did. I saw him that Monday afternoon. I had a sales presentation scheduled at Liberty Mutual (around the block from my Back Bay condo) with my manager on Tuesday afternoon.

I saw my doctor on Monday afternoon. I still had in a Lippes Loop from years ago. He examined me and drew blood. I got a call from him at my home the next morning, where I awaited Barry to come for our appointment. The doctor said, “You’re pregnant and we don’t where.”” What do you mean, ‘you don’t know where?’ What are my choices, my ear or my elbow?” He tried to explain to me about an ectopic pregnancy, but he never used the words “Fallopian tube” and I didn’t understand. He said I should pack an overnight bag, meet him in his office as soon as I could and we would go together to the hospital, which adjoined the medical building. My heart began to race.

I called Dan to come home from his office and waited for Barry to show up (no cell phones in those days). Barry came within a few moments and sat with me, trying to keep me calm, poor dear. He was such a nice man (he is no longer with us, having lost a battle to cancer some years ago). Dan came home a bit later and Barry bid a hasty farewell. Dan and I drove out to the Newton-Wellesley Hospital, went to the doctor’s office, then on to surgery.

The doctor used a laparoscope through my navel to see where the ectopic pregnancy was implanted, then cut it out of my left Fallopian tube, leaving a huge incision along my abdomen, and me considerably less fertile, with only one working Fallopian tube. His partner, who wouldn’t see me a week earlier, came by on rounds on Wednesday morning to check on the incision. He was dressed for his golf game (in those days, doctors played golf on Wednesdays). He had evidently assisted at the operation and closed the incision. He seemed pleased with his handiwork and commented that it was a good thing I came in when I did, as it was about to rupture (which might have killed me at the worst, but certainly would have caused serious complications). I commented that HE wouldn’t see me a week earlier. I had somehow offended him with that remark. His rebuttal: “I’m not GOD!” I was in the hospital for four days before being released.

Healing from an abdominal incision like that takes a long time. It left a long scar. I was out of work for the better part of a month. The other new hire was very kind to me. He visited me in the hospital, brought my mail and office gossip. He told me that Barry’s VP was overheard saying, “Why was she trying to get pregnant anyway?” WHAT? Did he not understand the point of the IUD? It only motivated me more. Of course I wound up being the top salesperson in the office (indeed, there was a time when I was one of the top software salespeople in all of New England). I showed them!

When I finally did become pregnant with David, I left this OBGYN practice immediately. I would never let these men touch me again.

With all that is going on in reproductive health these days, I think it is important to share this story as widely as possible. I was lucky. Despite some delays, I was able to get the life-saving help that I needed, covered by insurance. I didn’t have the state or the NOT Grand Old Party and “religious” fools telling me what I can or cannot do with my body! I would likely not be here to tell this story in today’s climate, depending on where I live. And certainly wouldn’t have my two wonderful children and granddaughter with another on the way. MY BODY, MY CHOICE!

 

Until the pandemic hit, the thing that caused me the most stress was my back pain.
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