Winter

 

 

This winter has been a true winter here in my hometown. It made me think of all the winters when I was a child. It seemed that the snows were deeper. I thought that it was guaranteed to snow every single winter and I could look forward to putting my sodden, snow-encrusted socks and frozen gloves on top of a radiator at home to dry out and get warm so I could put them back on and go outside for some more sledding down a small hill on a cookie sheet before the sun set.

 

I grew up near two creeks. Looking back I feel so lucky to have been a kid when you could go outside all day long on your bicycle, riding to your friend's houses where no doors were locked, and if you were hungry, the mom would fix you a PB&J or give you hot cocoa. I could play all day and never once would my mother come and find me in the car and holler, "Where have you been all day? I was worried." No, she knew I was just around the corner at the creek playing with my sister. We had our imaginations and that could keep us going until we were hungry for dinner or until it started getting dark. We didn't have watches but we had the sun. It let us know when it was time to walk back home on a sidewalk, up hill all the way until we got to our driveway and the dirt back yard, then through a screen door.

 

It was cooler outside under some huge oak trees than it was inside where there was no air conditioning, but an occasional fan stuck in the window to circulate the hot, humid air giving slight relief. But then the thunder was heard in the far distance and the approaching rain could be smelled on the breeze. You knew that it would change the air into something cool that was worth breathing deeply into your hot little lungs. I would go to the window and sit there smelling it and would wait to see if the thunder  would follow the loud clap in the sky. I was never afraid. My grandmother had taught me to enjoy it. I thank her for that all the time.

 

If it wasn't lightning, then outside I'd run. It felt so good on my sun-warmed skin.  My wet clothes would cool me off and my face, lifted up to the drops, felt refreshed. Almost better than running around under a sprinkler!

 

But the snow.

 

It came quietly during the night sometimes and made everything stop. No Doppler Radar back then to forecast its coming to let us know we needed to go out and stock up on milk and bread. No advance warning that schools would be closed. But you knew something was different when because your mom didn't wake you up and tell you to get ready for breakfast, then school. Bliss! 

 

I could wake up gracefully and realize that it was really quiet because all I heard was the radiator clicking up telling me it was warming my room. In my pajamas, I would go to the window where it was so bright it almost hurt to keep my eyes open. There it was like magic. Snow. All was a wonderland of blinding white and if it had also been sleeting, then the trees and lawn were suddenly transformed into crunchy ice sculptures. Stepping on the surface gingerly was a treat to see if I could take more steps than someone else before my foot went through the crust. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Over to a naturally made icicle that was clear as glass. Pick it off the bush and try to lick it without it sticking to my tongue. It tasted clean.

 

All those feelings come back to me when I see the snow falling now. I'm older but the child in me remembers the fascination, the mystery, the magic. It was when time was suspended in a chilly embrace and Dad got to stay home. 

I still love to sit at the window and watch the flakes come down like tiny, fluffy angels.

Family. Together. Warm. Cold. Hot chocolate. Hot baths before putting on warmed-up pj's off the radiator.

 

Good memories.



(c)nancy  2.24.2014