Brr, it’s cold outside!
Well, since I live in Virginia, it’s probably not that cold, but it is to me. Especially since hubby got sent out of state for work and I had to get up to take my son to the bus stop this morning. Froze my tushy off! C-O-L-D! Eight degrees…this calls for hibernation, don’t you think? And the news mentioned (-30) degrees in Chicago. I don’t know how you folks north of the Mason-Dixon line function.
Actually I have a vague memory of it, since I lived in New York’s snowbelt for several years. I was explaining to my son the joy (*sarcasm here*) of trudging through 300 feet of waist-deep snow to wait for the bus as the wind carved my face with trace icicles. My dad would plow the driveway in the morning before he went to work, like 4:30 a.m. My grandpa ran a town truck, so he’d come by on the street and blow the snow back into the driveway, and by the time my sister and I headed out, the wind would have blown all of the drifts back in place.
Have I mentioned we lived in a log cabin? The first year we had walls was the blizzard of ’81. We had a flat roof with no insulation–this was the basement only. Icicles formed on the nails that stuck through the plywood in the ceiling. Snow blew the insulation out from between the walls. The heat from the wood stove went straight up and out, so that we sat around in our winter coats inside the house. No one wanted to visit us–can’t imagine why–and during the blizzard we couldn’t open our front door for three days. Dad had to call someone to come dig us out.
(By the way, I found this image on a Buffalo web site labeled Blizzard of ’77.)
So for those friends born and bred here in Richmond, and now my son, also born and bred here–when they pine for snow…I celebrate the lack of it.