Whatever the name may be, the stuff is gleefully blanketing Moscow, Idaho as I write. Some frat boy down the lane just side-slipped his jalopy into a telephone pole.
I love this stuff!
“I own five pairs of skis, and I intend to use EVERY ONE of them today.”
The smattering of Floridians in the group didn’t look amused.
Real snowstorms are like rogue waves in the ocean, or tornado warnings. They throw everything into chaos, sometimes with heinous results to the unwary or geographically misplaced…. But man, do they ever get your blood pumping!
Hinged to this love for uncompromising snow was a disdain for the half-hearted ‘Minnesotans’ who anchored the local news. Most of them seemed to be transplants from Waco, Texas. They’d ooze across the screen, wailing in the face of each glorious Arctic blast. Just take your pick from one of the following…
“I talked to my brother in <Phoenix/LA/Miami/Corpus Christi> last night. He said he’d save a round of golf for me” (simper-wink-simper)
“Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway." (simper-wink-simper)
(Actually, I like the third quote… much love to Maya Angelou).
(<--- six months and 50 degrees Fahrenheit of separation)
So- I was starting to pout when we got socked in for the third day in a row. That is, until my sister Amy posted this.
I must now bow before the primal (dare I say) maleness of embracing nature in such a fashion. Ben is now my role model. Every sloppy, dripping, skid-lined snow day that comes my way, I’ll wake up and resolve to live a little more like Ben.
So- here’s the mucky, fuggy aftermath of an hour-long cruise around the nearby golf-course. Note the inch of rime on the rim of my hat.