For God’s Sake, Stop It!

Dyed-in-the-wet-wool-socks snow lover David Leite is mad as hell at all these snow storms, and he’s not going to take it anymore.

Snow, Snow, Snow
Click me for a panorama of winter panic

I know, I know. This image looks familiar. You’re tired of seeing snow on my blahg. I’m tired of seeing snow out my window. It just doesn’t stop. I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! And this is coming from a dyed-in-the-wet-wool-socks snow lover. 

If I were a kid again and my father were shoveling the walk and snow-blowing the driveway while I stood in the doorway, a cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, instructing him in the proper method of snow removal, everything would be fine.

David Leite sweeping the walkway

But now it’s me who has to clean that son-of-a-bitch-ing walkway, knock snow off the huge yew bushes with a too-short broom. And worst of all, carry bags of seeping, malodorous trash over snowbanks at least as tall as me–not very successfully, I might add. (You try getting the stains and stenches of soured milk, rendered duck fat, and a moldering chicken from the back of the fridge out of your only winter jacket, and then look me in the eye and say, “But it’s so pretty outside, David.”)

I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s pretty and cozy and safe. My detestation of manual labor and laundering has far outstripped my love of the white stuff. 

I never thought I’d say this, but I want heat. I want sticky sweat on the back of my neck. I want long–long as in vernal-equinox-long–days. Hell, I’d even cut the grass with the push lawnmower if it meant I didn’t have to go through another winter like this.

Of course, the biggest joke is that I’m trapped in this house and I can’t even make some of those incredible snowbound dishes like Blizzard Beef, Roast Pork in Milk, or Roast Chicken with Pancetta and Olives. No, Brilliant Me didn’t go shopping to prepare for the storm, because as of bedtime last night, nary a snowflake had fallen. So instead I’m stuck with Lean Cuisines, ancient frozen skinless chicken breasts, and a few boxes of pasta from Eataly–and no sauce. (Note to self: Tell The One what a genius idea it was to clean out the pantry, fridge, and freezer before we went away to Charleston for a long weekend.)

Oh, go ahead, ignore me. It’s fine. I’ll just sit here in the dark and bitch. Oh yeah, didn’t I mention the power went out again? At least I have Devil Cat to keep me warm.



  1. I have a guest house in Los Angeles. It’s currently empty. It has a full kitchen and wifi. Max stay is 3 days, unless you cook. And I hear you cook. You can bring the cat. 🙂

  2. David — Just come to South Carolina! We’d love to have you here —

    P.S. I love the orange cake with olive oil!

  3. David, I think you’re overlooking the thing about snow we loved most as kids: SNOW DAYS!!!! Those unplanned days off from school were like the tray of petits fours that arrive on the table after dessert at good restaurants. Unexpected and SOOOO luscious. It was our parents who had to worry about provisioning in advance so there would be food in the house.

    1. Ellen, if I were kid, I would have been playing in the snow in a heartbeat. Being the homeowner that I am, I just wanted to crawl under the bed until May! Why is it the playfulness has an inverse relationship to responsibilities?

  4. We got all rain here on Cape Cod Bay. The crocus are rearing their beautiful purple and yellow heads, and the Lenten roses are particularly rich and sturdy, and some daffodil buds are showing, and the birds are building nests in their houses, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh….

    Oh and David…try decaf. xo

      1. Hmm…David, I think the correct Southernism you’re looking for in this case is “Well, isn’t that just charming….”

        Send it west, please. We’ll gladly take it. We don’t think of it as snow so much as summer drinking water!

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