How Cold My Toes Are Growing…

“Snow tonight…Is that going to be the subject of your blog?”  the Lovely Lady asked sweetly.  My immediate and unpremeditated retort was, “Not on your life!”  Later, as I worked in the cold taking down the last of the Christmas lights from the gutter, an action prompted by fear of a repetition of last year’s sliding snow which destroyed the string of bulbs along with the mounting clips, I further resolved to ignore the falling white stuff in my nightly verbiage.  Again, as I sat in my recliner, with the gas fireplace roaring and snuggled under a blanket (wearing a sweater) to keep out the chill, I remained resolute.  Winter is the enemy.  I will not back down.  I will not waste time and words on this despicable season.  I have to endure it, but I will not acknowledge its power over me.

Of course, if you believe that I’m not going to write about snow, in the words of the incomparable Bugs Bunny (who stole them from the inimitable Red Skelton), “He don’t know me vewy well, do he?”  Certainly, I’m going to write about snow!  I’ve learned long ago that ignoring a disagreeable situation doesn’t make it any better.  Unlike my classmate from elementary school, a stout young man, I won’t hide behind a sapling covering my eyes and saying, “I can’t see you, so you can’t see me.”  A few winters have come and gone in my life and the best I can say of them is that after they come, they go.  But, they do go…

As a child, I always loved the idea of a real winter.  South Texas, where I was raised, didn’t seem to know the meaning of winter.  One or two heavy frosts in the season was equivalent to a mini-Ice Age there.  Snow was a fantasy we could only envision in our wildest imaginations.  It was only as a young adult in Arkansas that I first encountered a real snowfall and recreation in the wonderful white stuff.  Sledding, inner tubing, even finding a cardboard box to ride down hillsides in–these activities normally experienced by most in their juvenile years, I did for myself the first time as a 20 year old.  I loved snow!

Where it all went horribly wrong was the next spring.  The Lovely Lady (then just a girl herself), was involved in an event in a town about 140 miles away.  We made arrangements for me to meet her there, but the night before I was to leave, a heavy spring snow fell from the sky.  The state police issued warnings.  No one should travel if they didn’t absolutely have to.  I absolutely had to, so I left the next morning with enough money in my pocket for gas, an inexpensive meal, and lodging for one night.  About two thirds of the way to my destination, traveling about the same speed as other traffic, I felt my tires let go of the pavement and before I knew it, I was into the median, in mud and snow about a foot deep.  I tried every trick I knew, but I was stuck fast.  Walking along the road to get help, a tow truck, the driver “trolling” for unfortunates like me, stopped and the “Good Samaritan” asked if he could “help”.  Of course he could help!  Fifteen minutes later, the car was on the pavement and I was fifty dollars poorer.  I’m not sure I call that help!  Well, at least I was ready to move again.

I took off once more, getting a few miles down the road, only to feel the wheels turn loose again and I was headed into the median, seemingly for a repeat engagement.  Just one thought went through my head as I started into the deep snow…”I don’t have fifty dollars left in my pocket!”  With that in mind, I powered along through the mud and snow, never slowing, fishtailing my way back onto the highway.  All this, while passing stunned motorists who were intelligent enough to go slowly on that icy section of highway and could only stare agape at this young fool from South Texas who was obviously touched in the head.  Needless to say, for the rest of the trip I crawled along like the newbie I was and reached my destination without further episodes.

I think that was the start of my descent down the long, slippery slope to distaste of all things winter-y.  Don’t ask me to go snowboarding or skiing.  I will refuse.  No treks through the icy forest, no visits to the snow covered mountains.  Even tonight, my brain is working overtime trying to imagine ways I can finagle a couple of months off from the music store to find my way back to my old stomping grounds, just for the winter.  I don’t want to stay there.  I just want to camp out until the ambient temperature here hovers somewhere above the sixty degree mark and not anywhere near the bone-chilling readings which are forecasted for the next couple of nights.

One friend noted yesterday that spring is only ten weeks away.  I’m praying that she has miscalculated and it’s really just a few days…Otherwise, it looks like the winter grumpies are here to stay awhile.

“The more it snows (tiddely pom), 
The more it goes (tiddely pom),
The more it goes (tiddely pom),
On snowing.
And no one knows (tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (tiddely pom), 
Are growing.”
(Winnie the Pooh from The House at Pooh Corner~A.A.Milne)

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One thought on “How Cold My Toes Are Growing…

  1. The trick is not to get out of the house but to instead sit by the fire with a cup of coffee looking out at the snow and the poor guys who have to go out in it.

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