We are having a winter storm. Actually, we are being pummeled by 2 cowboys, an Alberta Clipper and a Texas Low. Being on a Great Lake, we are probably getting some lake effect accumulation as well, but being inland, we are escaping the Nor’ Easter, which is going to hit Boston and the Maritime provinces. There and in New York, they have blizzard warnings, that is to say high winds up to 100 kph as well as heavy snow. In other words, we could have it much worse.

Okay, I admit it, I have storm-phobia. I come by it honestly. A long, long time ago, I lived in a poorly insulated, poorly heated farmhouse with a hysterical mother and a father off working in the woods. I’m afraid of early autumn windstorms for a slightly different reason. Absent mother, hurricane and caregiver down for the count. It is astonishing that I have managed to drag these conditioned terrors after me for 7 decades. My first instinct is to castigate myself. I remember my then husband, the redoubtable Blake (of Septuagenarian fame (115journals.com) and his impatience with this fear, but really that is not productive. We are dealing with a very young child here and censorious judgement will not work.

Yikes, she notes, there is a car stuck on the hill in front of the house!

Yes, Little One, but you are here in a warm house. The furnace has just come on. There is food in the pantry. There is beautiful music on the radio. The cedars outside the window are laden with snow like out of season Christmas trees. And safe and secure, you can watch the windblown snow drift down though weather-proof, floor-to-ceiling windows. You will have chicken soup for lunch.