It’s supposed to snow in Chapel Hill today. Everytime there’s even the chance of a flurry here in the central part of the state, things grind to a halt, and I’ve always loved that. Folks from colder climes like to make their snide little comments about being better equipped to drive in the snow, regardless of how true it is (which, for the record, it isn’t; they’re just as bad at driving on ice as we are).
I’ve always loved the anticipation of a snow storm, and never more so than when I was in school. I used to watch the scroll at the bottom of the screen on WRAL religiously the night before a promised snowfall, waiting to see if Chapel Hill-Carrboro City Schools had already capitulated to Mother Nature or if I would have to wait until the next morning to see if it looked brighter in my room when I woke up—the first indication that the ground was much whiter than it had been when I went to bed.