© 2002 Brian Hodges - Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

he Law of Conservation of Matter states that: "Under normal conditions, matter can neither be created, nor destroyed." Based on that postulate, I have to wonder what the heck is happening to all this country’s shovels? Every year about this time, the northeast gets its first semi-major snowstorm. And every year, the hardware stores stock their shelves with hordes of shovels. And every year, as soon as the weatherman announces anything more than a half-inch of snow, people run out to buy said shovels.

Excuse me, but where are all these people’s shovels from last year? Did every single shovel collectively break in half on March twenty-first? Are people scared that their trendy friends will catch them with last year’s model shovel? And while we’re at it, just what kind of word is "shovel" anyway? Shovel. SHUH-vul. Shovel?

That’s right, it’s that time once again. No, not Christmastime. That started around October, remember? No, it’s time to start huddling around your radios and televisions, listening to all the latest up-to-the-minute weather conditions – "It’s snowing out there… Whoa, wait wait. Hang on just a second… Nope, it’s still snowing." Time to start pretending like the weather is a heavy conversation topic and not just mild chit-chat – "I heard we’re supposed to get two to four inches tonight… Oh really, I heard three to five." Time to start swarming supermarkets, buying up batteries, bottled water and canned goods – you know, so we don’t have to make that tough decision of who to eat first should the snow get so impossibly high that we can’t open our front door.

It’s time, in short, to once again start acting as though the first snow storm of winter is a sign of Christ’s second coming and not merely something that has happened each and every year since the beginning of time.

Oh, I’m not making fun. Believe me, I indulge in the first-storm-of-winter frenzy too. And I probably take more crap than I give out on the matter, simply because of the fact that I’m from Maine. All it takes is one remark about the frigid temperature to bring the obvious people out of the woodwork. "But you’re from Maine," they say. That’s right, born and raised. And guess what… It was cold. "Well, then New Jersey winters should be nothing for you." Let me let you in on a little secret. Thirty-two degrees is cold no matter where you are. "Oh, but you should be used it by now. I mean after all… you’re from Maine."

Yeah, I guess they’re right. We did adapt to the cold. Know how? Layers and hair. Beards, boots, flannel shirts, heavy coats, thermal underwear and hairy backs. But guess what… It was still cold. We stayed inside a lot. We wore enough clothes to get us from the house to the car and from the car to the office. We bundled up and kept the fire roaring. And guess what… It was still cold!

But at least we knew how to handle a winter. It took more than a few inches of snow to cancel school for us. It took more than few inches of snow to cancel the speed limit for us. Deep down we all knew that snow was never the culprit. Our four-wheel drives could cut through most anything until the plows came by. Heck, most of us owned plows, so we’d just cut our own path. Ice was another story. In my two years living in Los Angeles, I’d often heard natives say that rain is like ice to an L.A. freeway. Let me just say that I’ve gotten into accidents during ice storms in Maine and gotten speeding tickets during thunderstorms in L.A. There can be no comparison to ice.

But, come ice or come snow, another winter has officially begun. I’m taking it in stride. I listen to the weather and look out the window to verify that yes, it is in fact snowing. I try to leave at least a half-hour late in the morning, hoping that by then rush hour will be over and I can speed through the snow in peace. I’m wearing three pairs of socks, four shirts and a heavy fleece, but guess what? I’m still cold. I have ten cans of Coke and some leftover curry chicken in the fridge. That should hold me over until I can dig a trail to the emergency shelter. Once I find that elusive SHUH-vul that is.