Snow in Ireland!
This is rare, folks. And as I said yesterday, the Irish purport to haaaate snow.
But don't be fooled so easily.
I was in city centre last night when it started to snow, and kids from one to ninety-two had their faces tilted to the sky in wonderment. I saw a woman step off the Luas in a huff, notice the snow, stop, and smile to herself. An ear-to-ear grin. Even the most callous of Dubliners were all aglow with the Christlike innocence that adults really only experience with one thing: a rare snowfall.
People are in raptures with the snow. The radio station had a call-in session where people could phone the station and let them know if there was snow in their town. Employees at all Irish companies were on alert to check in with a manager in the morning and see if they had a snow day.
Dublin really didn't have any white on the ground this morning, but my oh my was it cold--a pitiful 37 degrees, which might as well be -37 by Irish standards. These folks just aren't used to cold. In fact, this morning my roommate had me check to see if there was "ice" (frost) on the windshield of her car, and when I told her there was, she brought out a kettle of lukewarm water and tossed it at the glass. I shouldn't have been surprised; after all, hers is a culture teeming with water-splashing solutions, from baptisms to rain for the potato fields. As we drove to work, the tap water freezing to her windshield in glassy rays, she described two types of ice to me: the thick kind you get in America, and the "greasy" kind in Ireland, which is only remedied by a kettle of water. The Michigander in me wanted to tell her that 5 minutes with the defroster on would cure it just fine, but the immigrant in me remained silent and watched the sunrise refract off the icy windshield.
The snow is now all melted and the wind is howling outside again, with rain, rain, rain. With any hope, the rain is an Irish splashing that will cure our cold weather and usher in a warm spring soon to come.
This is rare, folks. And as I said yesterday, the Irish purport to haaaate snow.
But don't be fooled so easily.
I was in city centre last night when it started to snow, and kids from one to ninety-two had their faces tilted to the sky in wonderment. I saw a woman step off the Luas in a huff, notice the snow, stop, and smile to herself. An ear-to-ear grin. Even the most callous of Dubliners were all aglow with the Christlike innocence that adults really only experience with one thing: a rare snowfall.
People are in raptures with the snow. The radio station had a call-in session where people could phone the station and let them know if there was snow in their town. Employees at all Irish companies were on alert to check in with a manager in the morning and see if they had a snow day.
Dublin really didn't have any white on the ground this morning, but my oh my was it cold--a pitiful 37 degrees, which might as well be -37 by Irish standards. These folks just aren't used to cold. In fact, this morning my roommate had me check to see if there was "ice" (frost) on the windshield of her car, and when I told her there was, she brought out a kettle of lukewarm water and tossed it at the glass. I shouldn't have been surprised; after all, hers is a culture teeming with water-splashing solutions, from baptisms to rain for the potato fields. As we drove to work, the tap water freezing to her windshield in glassy rays, she described two types of ice to me: the thick kind you get in America, and the "greasy" kind in Ireland, which is only remedied by a kettle of water. The Michigander in me wanted to tell her that 5 minutes with the defroster on would cure it just fine, but the immigrant in me remained silent and watched the sunrise refract off the icy windshield.
The snow is now all melted and the wind is howling outside again, with rain, rain, rain. With any hope, the rain is an Irish splashing that will cure our cold weather and usher in a warm spring soon to come.
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