Tonight I am sitting here with my three youngest children and we’re making bets on when the “big snow” is going to start. We’re betting chocolate and chores…so someone is going to make out really well. Then again, New England is very unpredictable so we all might lose. The one thing I do know is the snow is coming and I can’t stop it.

If you’re a New Englander and old enough to remember it, isn’t it amazing that almost 31 years have passed since the big Blizzard of ’78?

Just the thought of that giant weatherboard, instead of the “Doppler 2000″ weather gear they use these days is enough to throw me into a timewarp. The technology was so primitive…and no cell phones. Imagine that. I look at the photos online and videos of cars stuck on the highways and I’m a bit teary eyed as I tell my children the story of the Blizzard of ’78 for about the 20th time. They still listen to it….

On the afternoon on February 6, 1978 I was an excited 14 year old. School let out early, the snow was falling steadily and snowball fights were breaking out all over my neighborhood. My father was pacing in the kitchen by late afternoon….my mother had not arrived home from work yet and the snow was not letting up. Back then, SUVs were unheard of but my parents both drove cars that were so large that it seemed as if plowing through the snow wouldn’t be a problem. By 7pm, our excitement about the snow was muted by the fact that my mother was still not home.

My father silently walked back and forth in front of the livingroom window, waiting for my mother to pull into the driveway. He didn’t say much and prepared our dinner quietly. Soon, our power went out and he lit a fire in our fireplace as my brother, sister and I played Monopoly to pass the time. Little did we know, we’d be playing Monopoly by the fire for days.

We opened our front door later in the evening to see the snow that was piling up. It was windy but there was an eerie silence that shrouded the neighborhood. The silence made it more apparant that my Mom was missing. Her loud, boisterous laugh would have pierced the silence and lightened up the mood. We had no television due to the power outage so we sat close to the radio my father brought up from the basement. It was a time we really appreciated my father’s organized basement full of batteries, lanterns and canned goods.

Throughout the day, my grandmother called several times asking why we hadn’t called a cab for my mother. She was 78 years old and I’m not sure she was aware that we hadn’t even heard from my mother. Finally, quite late in the evening the phone rang….and it wasn’t my grandmother. It was my sweet Mom. Without even hearing her voice, I could see on my father’s face that she was fine. When he hung up the phone, it was as if a weight was lifted. The wind outside did not sound as harsh, the snow looked beautiful again.

My mother was at the Rhode Island Armory Building in Providence. Her big, silver Dodge Polara never made it out of Providence that day and she was transported by the National Guard to the Armory building where she enjoyed what I am sure was a meal that she was very thankful for…a cheeseburger and french fries from a local McDonald’s that delivered boxloads of food to people stranded at the Armory.

For the next few days we played in snow that seemed as high as our house and waited for my mother’s daily call from a payphone at the Armory. She told us how the cheeseburger was gourmet compared to the K-Rations she was now eating. Food supplies were low and she was sleeping in a chair. Still, she laughed and told us she was doing fine. I’m sure the people who were around her were happy to have her fun-loving company. I hoped that someone had a good book or a newspaper for her. She loved to read.

We went days without electricity. My father was very creative and was doing an outstanding job of keeping the house in order. My brother shoveled relentlessly. My sister and I walked the quiet streets, dodging huge plows that seemed dwarfed when they passed snowbanks that looked like skyscrapers. I missed my mother……

Several days passed and we were all in the house going about our day. Our electricity was back, schools were still closed. The sound of a truck in front of our house broke the silence of the still quiet street. The front door opened and I heard the loud laugh that had been missing from our lives for days. My mother was home. She still looked beautiful….even living on K-Rations and not having a shower in days didn’t diminish her sparkling smile. She kicked off her black snow boots and joked about how they didn’t smell very good. We dubbed them “The Blizzard Boots” and joked about how we were going to get them bronzed.

The snow melted (slowly), schools reopened, my Mom was back in the kitchen creating magnificent meals and my father stopped pacing. We bragged about how great my father did taking care of us. I giggled about the fact that I got to go to bed later and eat more potato chips when my Mom was on her snow vacation. It was certainly an experience that is hard to forget.

It’s been almost 31 years since that week of primitive living, Monopoly marathons, igloo building and the blizzard boots. Waiting for what looks to be a blizzard tonight —although nothing like the 1978 blizzard –makes me wish my parents were alive today to reminisce about the snow that made time seem to stand still. I can still hear my mother’s laugh and see her smiling face walking through the door………..