January 31, 2010

• Snowy Memories

  Inspired by Sonnetjoy's blog from yesterday; where you can also read this:

  I remember you wanting to help me shovel the sidewalk.  So we put you into your purple snow suit and blue moon boots and gave you a red plastic toy shovel and you followed me out into the storm.  We shoveled until the walk was clear and I had shed two layers of warmth and your cheeks were rosé.  Two hours later, after your Mom had tucked you into bed and I read your bedtime stories (plural) and delivered the good night ritual, I went out again and again and shoveled the walk that was covered again and again, and the parking spaces too.

  But that was not the first year we were there, not the year it snowed at least a little every day from Halloween to Easter, 240 inches worth; the sidewalks had walls five feet high that year.  The roof had ice that fell in thundering “WHOOMPs,” which shook the house and made us afraid to let you play in the snow because you might get under the eaves at the wrong moment.

  That was the year my bride came to help clear the church parking lot of snow and ice, and Pastor told her to go inside and help the women prepare breakfast for the men.  That got her hackles up, and she began chopping the ice off his parking spot right outside his office window where he could not see her while he ran the snow-blower in the parking lot.  When he did see her, he said she could not possibly get that thick ice up, but she set her jaw and said “Just watch me.”

  That Christmas I had my first reportable car accident in the snow.  We were going to the Christmas Eve services at Calvary Baptist off base.  Christmas Eve was also the night of parties in our housing area, and someone parked illegally on the wrong side of the street.  It was a white car in a high snow bank, and my windows were covered in snow (a no-no); and I backed into the car.  The owner did not want me to report the accident because he was not supposed to be driving; he had an Article 15 for DUI.

  There are more stories, but limited time and space, and even more limited interest from your readers.

  • 10:21 am
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