by jphilo | Feb 10, 2010 | Daily Life
All right, Winter, you win. You are bigger, faster, and stronger than me. Now that you’ve made your point, would you please give it a rest?
If I say “uncle” will you quit?
Uncle.
Uncle.
Uncle.
Why aren’t you listening? Why are you being so mean? And why did you let the snow swallow our picnic table? Do you know what you’ve done?
On nasty winter days I like to look out the kitchen window and see the picnic table standing sentry beside the big, brick grill. Its presence is a promise of warm weather, shish kabobs and s’mores. Seeing it there, so resolute and solid, carries me through the darkest, coldest winter days. But thanks to you’re high-handed ways it’s gone, buried under snow drifts that wore out their welcome over a month ago.
Did your best bud, the White Witch of Narnia, teach you to be so cruel? You know, if you would just go to fantasyland and hang out with her there, people would like you again. You’d get a steady stream of people reading books about winter on hot summer days when the air conditioning doesn’t work. You’d be popular again.
Tell you what, Winter, you sleep on it overnight. Think about how nice it would feel to have people like you again. And in the morning, when the sun rises, chant this little ditty about ten thousand times.
“I’m melting, melting, melting. You wicked, wicked girl.”
Not a quote from your buddy, the White Witch, but something said by a close friend of hers who lives somewhere over the rainbow.
Give it a try. See what you think. And then go away.
Please.
by jphilo | Apr 7, 2009 | Current Events
Seven inches of snow fell Sunday, the wet heavy kind that weighs down a shovel and burns out a snowblower’s engine if the person using it isn’t careful. Thankfully, Hiram was careful, and what we couldn’t scoop away is melting fast.
The storm threatened to destroy my good humor, since the only reason I have any good humor this time of year is the hope of spring being just around the corner. In a desperate attempt to maintain a good attitude, I made a what-the-snow-is-good-for list while I walked: the flowering trees are less likely to bud early and be destroyed in a late frost; ditto for the tulips, daffodils, and other spring bulbs; the moisture is good for the farmland; spring fever among students of all ages won’t start so early; it’s easy to see the cardinals against the snow.
I reached the bridal wreath spirea hedge that borders the north edge of our property about when my Sister Mary Sunshine attitude started to wear on me. The bushes were bent nearly double under the weight of the snow, just like they bow beneath the splendor of their thick, white blossoms each May. Two years ago, I remembered, a late frost robbed the hedge of it’s white May crown. But two days ago the snow lay, sparkling and white, a foretaste of what is to come.
My good humor restored, I finished my walk. Who can be grumpy after finding spring’s crown buried under seven inches of hope?
by jphilo | Apr 14, 2008 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
I’m not complaining about the weather. For one thing, a few months back I took a solemn vow to cease complaining about winter. At the time, I didn’t expect winter to last until mid-April. Still, I won’t complain for a variety of reasons. Here they are:
- With a photo like the one above, taken on my morning walk last Saturday (April 12), there’s no need to complain. A picture is worth a thousand words.
- I’m not a robin.
- The sun is shining again.
- Though the low this morning was in the twenties, it’s supposed to get into the fifties today. And since I work at home, I can take my walk whenever I want. I’m holding out until it hits fifty!
- For the rest of the week, the highs are to be in the fifties and sixties.
- Tomorrow I leave for Savannah for a week’s vacation with my mom and sister. The temperatures there are in the seventies.
- My husband says he’ll miss me while I’m gone.
- I already cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen.
- The laundry is almost done.
- I know where my children are, and they are safe – physically and spiritually.
- Tonight is book club and we’re discussing a very good book, Water for Elephants. If you’ve ever wanted to run away to the circus or have elderly parents (the two don’t seem to go together, but in this book they do) you should read it. Click on the link to read some reviews.
If you have more reasons for not complaining about the weather today, or any other day, please leave a comment and add to the list. I’d love to hear from you.
by jphilo | Mar 24, 2008 | Daily Life
We had another dusting of snow the night before Easter. And the day itself was cold, overcast and gray. After church we drove to my brother and sister-in-law’s house, for the afternoon. Our gathering was much brighter than the weather, full of fun and food and laughter.
In the evening when I was home again, a flurry of movement outside the living room window caught my eye. A flock of robins, forty or fifty at least, carpeted our east lawn and part of our neighbor’s. I watched the birds for a few minutes, heartened by this sure sign that no matter how chilly the weather gets, spring is on its way.
A look out the same window this morning revealed a lawn carpeted with frost, sharp and glittering and cruel. For a moment I lost hope, sure that winter would never lose its grip on my corner of the world, convinced that spring would never arrive. But peace returned as I thought about yesterday’s flock of birds. The robins are back. Spring is almost here. Don’t give up.
It’s enough to keep me going today.
by jphilo | Mar 4, 2008 | Current Events
For a little while Sunday afternoon I was almost giddy. The temperature rose to 60 degrees. The snow melted before my eyes. In fact it melted so fast the gravel road at the end of the lane started to wash out. The edge of the drainage ditch east of our property turned into a waterfall.
But by late afternoon clouds moved in and it began to rain. By evening, the temperature dropped below freezing, the rain turned to sleet and eventually to snow.. The temperature drop created a natural freeze frame in the drainage ditch waterfall. In other places, water which had melted so fast it flowed by in sheets, flash froze. Every low spot along our road, including the end of our lane, is a skating rink. If I was Hans Brinker, the world would be my oyster.
But I’m not a skater. I’m a winter-weary Iowan bound by a silly promise to not complain. So I won’t. I’ll give you a warning instead. If you send mail, don’t count on me getting it until the weather gets above freezing again, which isn’t supposed to happen this week. Our mail box, surrounded by skating ponds, is inaccessible.
On the other hand, if you know anything about ice fishing send me an email or phone. I’m thinking of building a fishing shack over the washed out section of road. Sure beats complaining.
