There are things whose passing I lament; Carvel soft ice cream, B. Altman’s department store, regular reruns of MASH, but now, the cruelest cut of all: Snow days are becoming a thing of the past.

Of course, it is another consequence of the pandemic. Now that remote learning has become entrenched, not being able to get to school, does not mean no school. With some exceptions, it just means electronic school.

Now I look at the list of school closing running on the bottom of television storm coverage and there is this dismal message for all to many school districts: closed—remote learning.

Much after my own schooldays were a thing of the past, my kids had no school for a week because of one hurricane back in the ‘80s. There was no such thing as remote learning. Of course, there was no such thing as the family computer then, either.

In my long-ago school career, snow days meant a mini-vacation, a free pass. There was time to go sleigh riding down the hill two streets up, maybe bake cookies, or, if the supplies were present in the kitchen, make Rice Krispie treats.

I used to start thinking about snow days well before there was any possibility of snow.

I liked thinking about when they might happen. It was a reason to peek out the blinds in the morning. Back in the day, the closings were announced on the radio. I’m not sure television had figured out how to run chirons along the bottom then. Or maybe they just didn’t want to do anything to disrupt the viewing of Captain Kangaroo.

The best thing about snow days is that I internalized the concept. It didn’t end when my school days ended. When I heard the phrase snow day, even to this day, it has always meant freedom. Whatever work I had to do, I didn’t have to do. If I had planned to write a story, in truth a sedentary indoor activity that did not depend on whether snow was cleared or not, still I didn’t have to do it.

After all, it was a snow day.

Reorganize the closet?

Forget it.

Snow Day.

Likewise, write the occasional thank-you note?

Wash the kitchen floor?

Fold sheets?

As they would say in certain parts of the New York metropolitan area, fuggedaboutit.

It’s a snow day.

When the big storm hit earlier this month, I read two newspapers online. I did the crossword puzzle. What I did not do is the assignment I am supposed to be reading for an online class I am taking through a college alumni association.

And do I need to tell you why?

It once seemed like snow days could go on forever. After all, there would always be winter. How could they disappear? What could replace the unexpected joy of an unanticipated day off from school?

Now I know, that dreaded phrase: remote learning. Don’t go sledding; don’t bake those cookies; don’t spend the day watching mind-numbing television soap operas.

Whatever your eyes tell you, this is not a snow day despite all that white stuff drifting to the ground, covering the driveway, piling up on the lawn furniture someone forgot to bring inside. Whatever it looks like, this just another day for remote learning.

Farewell, snow days. It’s been a long and wonderful relationship. I know that breaking up is really hard to do, but here we are. I will never forget the joy you brought me. There’s an old song for this: Thanks for the Memory.