Oh, when the saints go marching in,
Oh, when the saints go marching in,
Lord, how I want to be in that number,
When the saints go marching in …

St. Anne, St. Bridget, St. David, St. Francis Borgia, St. Joseph, St. Patrick, St. Peter Lutheran, … and the list goes marching on.  This is just a small selection from the saints section of this morning’s school closings and the saints make up only a small section of the overall list.  Snow has come to Saint Louis, that four-letter word.  The good news is that the temperature has warmed up enough to let it snow.  The bad news is that once the snow falls, the temperature will drop again into single digits or lower.  The winds will rise and the dry powdery snow will blow about in near blizzard conditions. 

I’ve heard this fear-mongering story before.  Nine times out of ten we end up with nothing but a dusting of snow.  Still for some fear is infectious.  For me these forecasts of snow infect hope, the hope of waking up to a new fallen snowfall.  Fears of a Saint Louis snowfall are often allayed.  Hopes for a Saint Louis snowfall are just as often dashed.

There is a Saint Louis traditions that is always celebrated at the threat of snow.  In this tradition, everyone rushes to the grocery store to buy bread and milk.  On Wednesday night or this snow’s eve, there was even a TV van broadcasting from the store.  It was there to chronicle the mayhem.  Not being native to Saint Louis, I am almost always caught unawares of this tradition, until it is too late.  This Wednesday was no exception.

When the kids were still in grade school a chance for a snow day would engender much excitement in our family.  I would get up early to watch the list of school names as it crawled across the bottom of the screen, to watch the saints go marching in.  Our school district was a hardy one and would often stay open, even when all the adjoining school districts had called it.  This led to much frustration and a sense of deprivation among the boys.  Where are our snow days?  Once they did call a snow day, but not until it was late.  We had already left for school and as I drove up to the elementary school, I found that I was first in line.  In fact I was the line.  Locked doors and no one was about, I eventually figured it out and we went back home.

When the boys were young, a snow day also meant a missed work day.  Either Anne or I had to take the day off from work.  Usually it was Anne who stayed home, but on occasion, I shouldered my responsibilities and be the one to stay home.  When I shouldered them cheerfully, I carted the kids over to Art Hill in the Park.  We rode our sleds, saucers and skis down the hill under the watchful gaze of Saint Louis himself.