Blizzard

I hear you all had a blizzard.

Blizzards are among Mother Natures assortment of big guns – or, big ‘uns. The old gal has something for every occasion, doesn’t she? Tornadoes for Spring and hurricanes for Summer. Earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunamis for any ol’ time. And they all have names befitting their ferocity.

Something called a tornado simply must be terrible and you can tell by its name that a hurricane is horrific. Earthquake – the entire planet quakes. Need I say more? Volcano – vicious! And tsunami sounds like something that could wipe out everything with a swoosh, doesn’t it?

And then there’s blizzard. With all the other bluh words (blooper, blunder, blubber, blather, blippy, and even balloon, to name just a few) blizzard just sounds kind of silly. And it sounds like wizard which makes me think of unicorns.

It also sounds like custard, and thanks to Dairy Queen, a blizzard is indeed a dessert. At least hurricane got the proper distinction of being an alcoholic beverage instead of a sweet, creamy treat.

I’m not saying that the blizzard is a wimp among the big ‘uns of nature. A blizzard is fierce, nasty, miserable, and can be deadly. And what with global warming cranking all our disasters up a few notches these days, a blizzard certainly deserves to be taken seriously. Can you imagine a blizzard tearing your house to pieces? Holy crap! That would suck. No, the blizzard deserves our respect.

I looked up the etymology of blizzard, expecting, in my naiveté, to find that it was an Eskimo term. I was pleased to learn that blizzard is not an Eskimo term, because I wouldn’t want to make fun of another culture’s language, if I can avoid it.

The origin of the word blizzard is unclear, but dates to the mid-1800s and first came into accepted use during the fierce winter of 1888. But why is anyone’s guess.

So I think we need to give this fierce winter monster a better name. Something more badass. Snopocalypse. Or Iceaclysm, perhaps! Maybe Freezing Banshee. How about Whitesmash?

Can you picture the headlines? Whitesmash cripples eastern Nebraska. (Hmmm… does it sound too much like an 80s hair band?)

San Francisco doesn’t get blizzards. If it did, we would all die – perhaps not instantly, but in a day or two. It would truly be a snopocalypse. Have you seen our hills? One false step and we’d be helplessly sliding at ever-increasing velocity - and we wouldn’t stop until we hit the bay, a homeless shopping cart, or maybe an organic produce stand. Either way, we’re talking instant death.

In fact, San Francisco doesn’t actually have weather. Not weather by Nebraska standards, anyway. (In much the same way, to a San Franciscan, Grand Island doesn’t have any hills – even though my Grandpa always insisted that the Yancey Hotel was “up on the hill,” I still can’t see it.) No, San Francisco doesn’t actually have any weather to speak of at all.

Sure, it drizzles sometimes. Sometimes, it even drizzles hard. And when it does, houses start sliding down the sides of the hills. We have the fog, it's true – but it might as well be whipped cream up there on the hilltops. Once every couple of years, there will be a lightning strike. A lightning strike. If this happens, you’ll know about it, because it will be on the news. Invariably, the single bolt of lightning will result in the burning down of a couple houses, if not a several-hundred-thousand-acre brush fire. The next day at the water cooler, the hot question will be, “Did you hear the thunder?”

If San Francisco had real weather, this place would be reduced to mush in a matter of hours.

I miss the weather, even the blizzards. I know you’re all miserable, and I’m sitting here complaining because the pavement’s wet. But I miss the thunder. And I miss the snow. I should probably shut up now.