The Blizzard of 2013: "Swift, Heavy, and Dangerous," said the Governor, Declaring an Emergency. "Yes! Playtime!" said I.

Above is a neighbor around the corner from me shoveling out on Saturday, February 9, 2013. It was a common scene in our neighborhood in Worcester, Mass.  We had been warned by Governor Deval L. Patrick.
 
Surrounded by solemn-faced emergency response officials, the Governor went on TV declaring a statewide emergency as a hurricane-force blizzard approached the state. Calling the storm "swift, heavy, and dangerous," he issued an executive order banning all cars from the roads -- or face a $500 fine. The last time such a ban was imposed was in the Blizzard of '78.

I smiled.

TV weathermen, like rock stars with all eyes on them, took over regular programming as they went on excitedly about the coming "storm of the century." Describing its expected conditions as "impossible," and "treacherous," and "life-threatening," they got us all on full alert. Put another way, these weather know-it-alls scared the crap out of everybody.

Except me, Nanook of the North.

I went to the Big Y Supermarket to get a fresh roasted chicken -- yummy -- and the place was packed with grim-faced people piling groceries into their carts. They didn't want to starve during the expected mass loss of electricity. A couple of weeks earlier, we had lost our electricity in below zero weather, quite unsettling.

Nanook did NOT like that.

This earlier outage lasted just a day. But no heat, lights, computer, and TV is one swift kick in the lifestyle. With the house quiet and  in darkness, Barbara and I went out to an evening movie. We hardly ever go out at night. But we  didn't know what else to do or where else to go. 

As soon as we opened the door to the theatre, we felt the warmth. "Boy, does that ever feel good," Barbara said. I grunted. We saw a great movie, "Zero Dark Thirty"-- and arrived home to lights!

In this latest storm, we expect to lose power again and Barbara -- the grown-up in the house -- is ready for the worst. She has the flashlights and battery-lit candles out just in case. As the powers-that-be suggested, we charge our cell phones in case we need to call for emergency services. We kick ourselves for not buying a generator as we had resolved to do after the last power outage.

Sure enough, just as the TV weather experts predicted, the flurries begin on Friday morning, Feb. 8, and pick up steam throughout the day and night. Wind speeds of up to 50 mph howl while the snow comes down at a steady two to three inches an hour just as the ABC TV weatherman said. I guess I owe him and his colleagues an apology.

Always an early riser, I wake the next morning at 4:30 and look out the living room window to a front yard piled high with snow. At left is what I saw when I open the garage door.

My first thought is "Yes! Snow, beautiful snow! Huge piles of it! Playtime!" My second thought is to get out there and start shoveling, which I  love to do.

But then I realize that we still have electricity. So, before the fun begins, I decide to have a cup of hot coffee and some breakfast. Barbara is still in bed, sound asleep.

We have different schedules and routines. For example, I am an early riser; she is not. I have my mancave downstairs with my desk, computer, and special photos from my long, long life. Barbara's domain is the upstairs living room, specially designed for her by our daughter Misha.  There she reads most nights.

But back to my wild, almighty, majestic, beautiful storm. Well, at 5:45 am, with Barbara sleeping like a baby, I go out there and shovel, right, like a maniac for two solid hours.

I savor every minute. And what exercise! Two solid hours of bending, lifting heavy snow, tossing it. As cold as it is, I work up a sweat. Where could I get better, more enjoyable exercise?

I get maybe 80% of the shoveling done when the garage door opens and there stands Barbara, her face a portrait of worry. 

"You did all that?" she asked. "You feel okay?"

"Yup, got a lot done."

"You sure did. Aren't you tired?"

"Nope,  not tired at all. In fact, I feel great. I think I'll walk down and get my New York Times at 7-11 and stop by the Donut Cafe for coffee and a read."

"You sure they're open?" my worrywart asks.

"They'd better be. If not, Lisa is going to hear about it."

Whenever there is a big snowstorm, I hike down to the Donut Cafe (about a mile away), walk in covered with snow, and take my VIP table by the window. We have a lot of laughs, almost always at my expense.

Lisa and other regulars know me as Nanook of the North because they only see me on big snowstorms. I have written several Nanook of the North stories.  Here is one I wrote five years ago. Here is another one. 

Well, I trudge all the way down to the Donut Cafe, slipping and sliding on hidden ice, with streets a deserted blanket of white, and my only company giant, loud, snowplows whose drivers eye me with a look that says: What's that nut doing walking out in this? 

The Donut Cafe is closed. Lisa, even though I know you don't work on Saturdays, you're going to hear about this. What the hell am I supposed to do on a big storm day, punt? Sit on my ass out here in the snow?

So I go over to the 7-11 convenience store diagonally across the way. It is open with one woman clerk behind the counter. "You're open," I said to Kayla. "I'm surprised."

"How did you get here?"

"My husband drove me. He didn't want to. He kept yelling at me telling me that I shouldn't go in this weather, but I didn't listen to a word. I just told him I was going to work and so he drove me."

There's a real women, I thought. Plus she has a beautiful smile, seen here.

Kayla and I are used to seeing each other because I come in regularly on weekends for the Times. (I get the weekday editions delivered.) Lo and behold, miracle of miracles, the store has one copy of The New York Times.

God is so good to me. First the Lord sends this great snowstorm to me and then our creator  delivers one copy of The New York Times especially for me to enjoy with the storm.  I am in paradise.   

I buy the Times, The Boston Globe, a cup of black coffee, and a blueberry muffin. You read right, a calorie-packed blueberry muffin.  Aren't I the guy who just lost 20 pounds by NOT eating things like blueberry muffins?

Yes. Click here.

Am I going to put the weight back on?

No. Two hours of shoveling heavy snow plus a solid 45 minutes trudging from home and back certainly used most, if not all, of those calories. Plus I had just weighed myself the day before after tennis. If I had gained any weight, I would not have eaten the blueberry muffin.

It's called impulse control.

I want to sit and read and enjoy my hot coffee and blueberry muffin, but there is no place to sit. As the one and only customer in the store, I get bold. "Would you have a chair that I could sit on for a bit while I read?" I asked Kayla. "I promise I will be out of the way and won't stay all day."

The question takes her by surprise. But then she smiles and said, "Be right back."

She returns with a chair. "Here," she said. "Enjoy."

"I'll just stay a while."

"Don't worry, enjoy."

I take the chair. "Thank you, thank you so much."

I make myself comfy in a far corner near the ATM machine and spend a thoroughly enjoyable hour reading my newspapers, looking out at my great storm friend. I thank Kayla for "taking me in."

With me the only customer in the store, Kayla goes out and shovels snow, shown at right.  Talk about multi-tasking!

Mmmmm .... that blueberry muffin was so-o-o-o good.

The front-page headlines in both the Saturday, February 9, editions of The New York Times and The Boston Globe are on the storm that I am experiencing firsthand and having a ball doing it. Here are the two front pages:

The lead sentence in the Times is:

"A vast storm system began its brutal descent on the Northeast on Friday, bringing high winds, deepening snow and threats of flooding to a region still scarred from Hurricane Sandy in October."

The lead sentence in the Globe is:

"Driving snow and punishing winds battered Eastern Massachusetts beginning Friday afternoon, prompting a mass retreat that jammed public transit, emptied the highways, and had New Englanders hunkered down to await the teeth of a potentially historic storm."

As it turned out, I was not the only snow-lover out playing in this historic storm.  My grand nephew James went diving in the snow.  That's right, diving.  Here's the video proof.

James, this is your uncle speaking. Listen carefully. I am Nanook of the North. You may NOT outdo me in snowmanship! Got that?

Following are photos of people and scenes I encountered  out there enjoying the awesome natural beauty of this majestic storm.

Finally, here is my immediate neighbor Billy, shown here bailing me out at my place with his snow blower. He came over when he saw Barbara out there shoveling after I went off to play in the snow. Apparently he and the other neighbors thought I was sticking Barbara with the whole job. Oh well. Thank you Billy! 

So long and keep moving.

Amazon E-Books by George Pollock

"State Kid: Hero of Literacy" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "Last Laughs," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "Killers: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "I, Cadaver" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. “A Beautiful Story” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; "A Long, Happy, Healthy Life," is about how to live the title every day; and "Unlove Story," Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.

 
For the Nook:

A Beautiful Story
A Long, Happy, Healthy Life
I, Cadaver
Killers
State Kid
Unlove Story

Nanook of the North VI: A Snowstorm on April 1? Got to be an April Fool's Joke, Right? Wrong!

Come back! Hear me out for a few seconds --  please?

Thank you. Yes, Nanook of the North VI is unthinkable.  I couldn't agree more.  But so was V and IV and III. So was this winter. So was a major snowstorm on April 1, today.  April 1!

After months of record-breaking snowstorms and hibernation, we expect by April 1, finally, to crawl like bears out of our holes. Normally, it would be 70 degrees or so and we would be outside in shorts and tee shirts.

Instead, we get a snowstorm that causes schools and colleges to cancel classes. The storm was too much for Worcester State University around the corner from me, for example. I couldn't play tennis at the Y because of the storm. Wachusett Mountain sent out an e-mail on April 1 saying, "No Foolin' -- we have tons of snow!"  The ski area said it got "8-10 inches of new snow today."

In other words, it's April 1 as I write this and still winter.  Of course, I was up at 5:00 A.M. and out the door by 6:00 A.M. -- to play in the snow. It's what I do. And then I write about it. Today, boys and girls, we have a special treat for you: more photos than usual and a couple of videos.

First, so you know that this April 1 was a serious winter day, here are some scenes that caught my eye.  This was a neighbor's house, his cars covered in snow.

 

A few houses down were these wintry scenes.
One glance at them should remove all doubt  that April 1 was the real deal, a wintery day.

What was it like walking out in the wee hours of this winter morning on April 1? Here is a short video .

Got the scene? Good.

Well, I made it down the hill to the Donut Cafe, where I go during big snowstorms.  I was hoping Lisa Walker would be working today because we have a lot of fun, always at my expense.

Lisa thinks I'm a little nuts and of course she is right. I'm okay with that. At least I know I'm not completely right in the head. I feel sorry for people who are nuts when everybody knows it but them. I like to think that I'm one nutcake who at least knows it.


On this April 1,  a snowplow was clearing snow from the Donut Cafe parking lot as I arrived. Outside on the intersection island, I did a little dance, jumping up and down and waving my arms.

Inside, leaning on the counter, Lisa caught my silly performance. She broke into a big smile and began waving. She has read all five earlier Nanook stories and treats me like a VIP.

But when I went inside, some guy was sitting at the VIP  table by the window, which I thought was reserved for me. "What's this?" I implored with raised hands. "Somebody sitting at my  table?"

The man was not amused. "It's okay," Lisa said soothingly. "He's the boss." She introduced me to Bob as "the guy who visits during snowstorms and writes a blog." He barely looked up.

Obviously not impressed, he went back to eating his breakfast.  I stood there trying to get a laugh by putting  on a hurt face and making a plea for respect due a VIP.  The skit bombed. There was an awkward silence. Pointing to the other seat at the table,  Bob growled, "Sit down."

It was not an invitation. It was an order. I sat down and a relieved Lisa came over and asked, "Your usual, black coffee and raisin toast?" I nodded.  Now Bob and I were both sitting across from a complete stranger.

Then something completely unexpected happened. Bob began telling me his story. It turned out that he is more than the boss; he is the owner. He is 65 and has owned the Donut Cafe for nearly 20 years. He also owns a Donut Cafe in Shrewsbury.

He has spent his whole life making and selling donuts. "I began when I was 14 and I have never done anything else," he said. He said that he went out on his own after his last employer, for whom he had worked several years, reneged on a promised bonus.

"Okay," Bob said to the owner. "I quit." Pushing age 30, he walked out and has never looked back.

Except in one important respect. He still makes donuts the old-fashioned way, the way he learned as a kid and with the same basic ingredients. At the Donut Cafe, he said, every donut is hand-made. "No machines here," he said. "The only machines we have are our arms."  Bob shook his arms.

By contrast, he said, donuts at the big chains are mass-produced by machines. Also, at the big chains you can never be sure exactly what you are eating.  Bob didn't say that. I do. If you want to know what is in Bob's donuts, all you have to do is ask and he'll tell you. The answer will probably be "same as always."

Every donut served at the Donut Cafe is a rare treat.

The Donut Cafe is also known for its great breakfasts. Bob says flatly that it's the best breakfast anywhere for taste, fresh ingredients, and price.  The big guys can give you a standard, mass-produced breakfast, Bob says, but they can't make the made-to-order breakfast that he and his staff serve.

Two of the servers are pictured here.  Lisa Walker, left is the "weekday girl." Sam (short for Samantha), right, is the "weekend girl." Sam says that the most popular breakfast is two eggs, home fries, toast, and meat.

Meat? "Bacon, sausage, or ham," Sam said. "Three kinds of pigs." Sam said some customers ask for extra eggs and "we give it to them." Breakfasts cater to individual customer tastes. Another favorite breakfast is the western omelet with home fries and toast. 

Sam  says she is famous for her blueberry pancakes.  She makes them "big and thick."  She says that people came in asking, "Hey, can I get one of those great big pancakes?"  The answer is always yes -- and the way they want it.

Still, Bob said, business is down because these are tough times. People are hurting financially and  not eating out as much as they used to, he said.  He talked about the many ways that the Donut Cafe is adapting to people's convenience and pocketbooks.

"Are you getting all this," Lisa asked.

"Sure, I remembered Michael Collins' name, didn't I." He was a customer I had joked around with on an earlier visit. His son Tim was hoping for a major league baseball contract.

Lisa frowned. "His name is Larry Collins,"  she said.

Every time I come in, Lisa somehow manages to expose me for what I am or am not -- in this case, no memory. It's not her because she's sweet and wouldn't knowingly hurt a flea. It's flawed me. Without missing a beat, I said, "Ah, do you have a pencil and a piece of paper?"

She brought them.  She also showed me the big photo, shown at left, of Tim Collins that was in the morning Telegram & Gazette. The Worcester native was shown pitching for the Kansas City Royals. "He got a pro contract," Lisa said. 

"Four hundred thousand a year," a male customer said while paying his bill. "Minimum wage in the majors.  Imagine that, at twenty-one."

"Forty three thousand a month," Lisa said. "Whew."

Now back to the real world and Bob's efforts to offer even more to his customers. He recently installed an ATM machine. "People were coming in with credit cards and we couldn't take them," he said. "We couldn't serve them and lost money." That is no longer the case.

Bob said that the Donut Cafe will soon add three new drinks: expresso, cappuccino, and smoothies. "I have no clue how to make them," Bob said. "I never made them." Sam immediately piped up, "I'll make them. I know how to make them."

When Bob was done with me, he just got up and went out back. I lingered at the VIP table, getting a free coffee refill from Lisa, and watching the plow outside clearing snow from the parking lot. I was just about to leave when Bob emerged from the back room.

He flicked a finger at me. "Come here," he commanded.  It's how you would call a puppy. Having little pride, I obediently got up and let Bob escort me out back. "I wanted you to see this," he said. "This is where we make the donuts. See, no machines."

It was a tiny work area, given all the donuts made there.  There were counters, a deep fryer, and vats. He pointed to a vat of chocolate. "We have just what we need. Everything is by hand." He wanted to make sure I got that. I did.
 
Repeat: every donut at the Donut Cafe is handmade.

I also noticed something else about that little back room. The place was spotless. You could eat off the floor. It was as neat as a pin. (Yes, I know, three straight cliches. But how do cliches become cliches? By being everlastingly true.) 

When the next big snowstorm hits this month, or possibly in May, and I trudge through the snow as usual to the Donut Cafe, I'm going to take a really long look at those handmade donuts.

I don't eat donuts. But if Bob takes a donut and puts it in my hand and says, "Eat!" I'll do what I'm told. And, to tell the truth, I'm looking forward to eating that donut.

Meanwhile, it is April 1 and I have to get back home in the snow.  For the return and wrap-up, check out this video. 

So long and keep moving.