So, we had a snowstorm. If you can imagine what it would have been like had the temperatures been summer-like, we would have exactly zero hysteria. So it rained for a couple of days. Get the temps down a few degrees, and we have a named storm (I refuse to participate in that sign of the Apocalypse by acknowledging the name of the snowstorm), along with a host of rejoicing local TV advertising sales agents.
It really wasn’t anything, this “storm,” except snow. The snow, to be sure, was abundant, but what of it? Stay inside, read a book or the internet, and, after a while, go make a dent in the labor of removing the snow from paths of some importance, then, after that, cook yourself a cup of cocoa.
I clicked through on a link to the storm news digest by state and region. Apparently, there was much hysteria, a few traffic accidents, and a handful of unfortunate deaths. The deaths were in Ontario. Ontario is a part of Canada. For shame! How does a Canadian put himself at risk so that he dies during a snowstorm? Even one from Toronto?
Doesn’t it seem that the hysteria contributes to property damage and loss of life? We get so tightly strung: every word on the radio and every picture on the TV exudes anxiety. How can we act with wisdom when we’re being yelled at, shouted to, and otherwise harangued by every form of media?
Get extra flint, gather a few extra pieces of wood, kill an extra goat, and you’ll be fine.