I am writing this on Friday morning. It is five above. I'm still settling into the new year, writing 2021 2022 every time, and trying to think profound thoughts. So far, it's not working. Most of my thoughts are centered around the wind chill factor and how long I can put off going into the house because the distance between my desk and the back door grows in exponentially with each degree the mercury drops.
And now I must admit it is early Friday evening and this is as far as I've gotten. This has been my fear most of my writing life--that I would just flat run out of things to say. (I think I have family members who have prayed for this to happen, but I forgive them. Really.)
I was looking back today about how winters used to be a lot more...wintery...than they are now. White Christmases were, if not likely, not improbable, either. I miss that. Not the actual snow so much as how things felt. Hot chocolate tasted better. So did cookies. It was fun to walk in snow.
However, I wasn't afraid of falling down then. It was actually kind of fun.
I remember high school basketball games being so exciting, both when I was a kid and when I was a player's mom. When I was in elementary school, it invariably snowed on sectionals weekend. My dad worked on the highway, my brothers had to miss ballgames because our road wasn't a primary one for the snowplows. I think there was a lot of cussing that went on.
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| Picture by Betsy Hiffner |
The winter we moved from the nice town subdivision to the wilds of northern Miami County was when the Blizzard of 1978 happened. My husband stayed in town because...you know...work, and the kids and I hunkered down in a house with questionable insulation, a questionable furnace, and a lane so full of snow I thought I'd never get my car down it again.
The only things about the blizzard that are fun are the old pictures and the selective, inaccurate memories.
So, this morning--Saturday--it's 14 above. The distance between the house and the office can now be measured in miles instead of feet. And, really, it's not so bad.
I don't often regret being the age I am. I've had so much fun in my life. I'm still having fun. Aside from aches and pains, this time is filled with family, friends, music, books, art, and a whole bunch of laughter. It's a blessed time.
For us. But for people who don't have heat or can't afford heat, whose transportation is negligible, whose food supply is iffy, whose knowledge of available resources prevents them from staying safe, these temperatures are scary business.
Have a good week. Stay warm. And it is for those I mentioned in the paragraph above that I urge you to be nice to somebody.
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Watch the blog for Wednesday at the Window. I'm having guest posts every week and I'm looking forward to what they have to say. First up is writer friend Jan Scarbrough!
