I went looking for snowflakes Tuesday. I made a seven-hour loop around Macon and did not see a single flurry.
I fancied myself as a snowstorm chaser, like those brave souls who track down tornadoes and hurricanes.
But I got ahead of myself. I missed my target. I did keep a diary, though.
5:55 a.m. Snowmageddon has had more pre-game hype than the Super Bowl. My newspaper is waiting for me on the lawn. The front-page headline proclaims: “We’re ready.” It could also read: “We’re hyper.”
6:23 a.m. The weather map shows a pink blob over Hattiesburg, Miss. It is headed our way. Macon usually doesn’t see this much pink except during the Cherry Blossom Festival.
6:49 a.m. Hurricanes have names, but I had no idea snowstorms also have monogrammed towels. Winter Storm Leon looks more like a Malcolm to me.
7:14 a.m. I leave the house. It is cloudy and 34 degrees. Gray clouds are hanging around in the sky. There is hardly any traffic in the school zones. It is quiet.
8:47 a.m. I set out to find some snow before it finds me. I put on my heavy coat and gloves. Before I leave the office, I shake the Snoopy snow globe on my desk. The glitter swirls around his typewriter on top of his doghouse, and I enjoy the magic.
9:26 a.m. I stop at Bob’s Chevron in Warner Robins to see if they sell snow tires. Bob Heaberlin retired last February after working at the corner of North Houston and Elberta roads for 43 years. His daughter laughed and told me there hasn’t been much of a market for snow tires and snow chains since the Great Snow of ‘73.
10:11 a.m. I call Delinda to ask if she has a carrot left over from the chicken dish she made Monday night. She knows I am not a big fan of carrots. “I will need a nose for my snowman,” I said.
10:43 a.m. I drop by Harvey’s Supermarket in Fort Valley to buy a loaf of Sunbeam bread. On a whim, I search for snow peas in the frozen foods section but cannot find them. The cashier tells me the bread delivery man had to restock the shelves early Tuesday. After that sells out, there probably won’t be any more bread until Thursday.
11:04 a.m. Snow! Snow! Wait. False alarm. It is clumps of cotton in a field along Taylor Mill Road, south of the Friendship community.
11:37 a.m. At the Western Auto/True Value hardware store on North Dugger Avenue in Roberta, I ask the nice man if he sells sleds. He smiles and suggests I use a cardboard box or a trash can lid.
12:02 p.m. I am counting the number of people I know who have the last name “Snow.” I also wonder if maintenance crews have to put salt on the roads, will it affect folks on low-sodium diets? It’s enough to keep me awake at night.
12:10 p.m. A few raindrops are splattering on Ga. 42 north at Russellville Road. I see no signs of the pink blob. Or the blue one.
12:25 p.m. I am at the Dairy Queen in Forsyth, where I have two cheeseburgers. I celebrate the impending snow day by ordering a Blizzard.
12:46 p.m. There are no snowdrifts in Smarr.
12:59 p.m. No one is making snow angels in Bolingbroke.
1:27 p.m. Unrelated to the weather, I drive to Central City Park with my kazoo. Tuesday was National Kazoo Day. The kazoo was introduced at the Georgia State Fair in 1852. I play “Happy Birthday” on my red kazoo, followed by a rendition of “Let It Snow.” I am glad no one else is in the car with me.
2:10 p.m. Although a “wintry mix” has arrived, I will not post anything on Twitter. I refuse to tweet for sleet.
2:38 p.m. I send a text message to my son and daughter-in-law, who are expecting a baby any day now. I have counted the number of steep hills on their way to the hospital, and I hope my grandchild will wait at least another 48 hours. (I do not tell them the recent story of the woman in Maine. She gave birth in her carport in 10-below temperatures while her husband was in the house getting the suitcase to go to the hospital.)
3:01 p.m. They closed school for this? Our Yankee friends are laughing at us.
3:13 p.m. I am deeper in my thoughts than I am in snow. I do remember praying for snow as a child. (Admit it. You did, too.) I wrote a poem in the fifth grade. “Nothing is as beautiful as new falling snow. It brings such beauty to things below.” Eat your heart out, Robert Frost.
3:39 p.m. There is no winter wonderland on Artic Circle (sic) or Artic Place (sic) in east Macon, just a cold rain.
3:48 p.m. I am back at Mercer Village. A company was hired last month to bring in snow machines, so everyone could slip and slide on the white stuff, even though it was 70 degrees outside. I prefer Mother Nature, even if she keeps me waiting.
4:05 p.m. Our offices closed five minutes ago. We have early deadlines. Sigh. I have not caught the first snowflake on my tongue. Oh, well. There is a 100 percent chance it will start falling after sundown. I am headed to the house. I have been told we’re having milk and bread for supper.
Reach Gris at 744-4275 or firstname.lastname@example.org.