Some anonymous writer once wrote that “snowflakes are kisses from heaven.”
Last weekend heaven kissed Western North Carolina and most of the Northern East Coast. And it kissed us good and hard.
This snow upset some folks. It killed the retail trade for a few days. It caused pile-ups on the roads. It canceled flights, ruined planned events, and disrupted school schedules.
Last weekend heaven kissed Western North Carolina and most of the Northern East Coast. And it kissed us good and hard.
This snow upset some folks. It killed the retail trade for a few days. It caused pile-ups on the roads. It canceled flights, ruined planned events, and disrupted school schedules.
Others, however, took great delight in the snowfall. Most children and teens enjoy mucking about in the white stuff. (One exception was my granddaughter Carolina, who lives in Virginia where the snowfall was 34 inches. Since she is considerably shorter than a yardstick, I understand her fear.) Adults enjoy the serenity of the snow, the slower tempo of life it brings, the change of pace from the daily routine.
In my own case, I stand with the latter group. The snow offered me the following gifts:
Enforced exercise. This fall I took on some light janitorial duties in the apartment building where I live. One of these duties includes shoveling snow. Because I performed this task two or three times a day during the storm, even while the snow was falling—I didn’t want it to pile up, as I am too old to shovel a foot of snow—I got a good daily workout Friday through Monday. On Saturday before shoveling, I read an article on men, heart attacks, and shoveling snow. This article inspired me to greater efforts, but as you can see, I am still here.
Cooking. For whatever reason, falling snow prompts me to hit the stove. Perhaps some survival instinct? At any rate, between Thursday evening and Sunday evening I had concocted and then eaten or frozen the following: chili, spaghetti sauce, blueberry banana smoothies, pork chops and peas, turkey Italian sausages, and chicken soup. The freezer is full.
Working: I ended the snowstorm with my school papers graded for the week and all my lessons planned for the week. I mapped out next year’s academic schedule. I even caught up on most of my emails from students and parents. I read a mystery novel and then wrote a review of the book just in time to make the deadline for the Smoky Mountain News Magazine. I posted a couple of articles on my sit, and shot down another twenty pages of editing a movie book. I discovered that I am productive in confinement. (Now that I am old and wasted, I have sometimes pondered the joys of being locked up in the state pen. Just think of the possibilities: free rent, free meals, free medical care, a library, pencils and paper for writing, lots of exercise. Truth to tell, such incarceration used to be my primary retirement plan, but the downside deters these plans: the other prisoners.)
Acts of goodwill: I helped two of my neighbors and two strangers with various vehicle problems. From my porch I watched as several others did the same. My favorite incident: a truck was spinning on the ice at the intersection of Cumberland and Chestnut. Within ten seconds, the man in the truck behind the stuck vehicle had joined a pedestrian to push the spinning truck off the ice. Snow and other disasters often bring out the best in people.
One more example here: Years ago, a tornado hit Winston-Salem, North Carolina. My mother, who lived in Winston, decided to come to Waynesville, where I was living, to get away from the fallen trees and the noise of chain saws. That very evening a violent wind shook the town, and a tree branch shattered my mother’s windshield. I ran outside in the rain and the wind to remove the branch, and was struggling when a man from the state subsidized housing next door ran across my driveway. He saw me, helped me lift the branch off the car, and then dashed through my backyard and disappeared into the darkness. A few moments later, a police car pulled into the driveway. The officer asked if I had seen anyone leaving the dwelling next door. I replied vaguely, saying someone may have run off somewhere toward the downtown, the opposite direction taken by the man.. Well, what would you do? Some criminal had stopped to assist me. What was I supposed to say? Tell the officer exactly where the man had gone? I couldn’t do it.
Serenity: The silence of snow brings peace to my soul.
Housework: My son’s former bedroom cleaned: check. Carpets vacuumed: check. Dishes washed: check. (Lots of cooking means lots of dishwashing.) Bathroom cleaned, including tiles in shower: check.
Car: No driving for four straight days. Whoooo-hoooo!
City life: I live near Downtown Asheville and walked twice to Harris Teeter on Merrimon Avenue, not for necessities but just to buy a few treats and enjoy the walk. I love the sound of boots walking in the snow.
Gratitude: This snow made me keenly aware of all those who in spite of the weather keep the wheels turning: the people trying to plow the streets, the police and the fire department keeping us safe (lots of sirens where I live), the nurses, doctors, and others who brave the weather. Many thanks to all of you.
Kisses from heaven....
In my own case, I stand with the latter group. The snow offered me the following gifts:
Enforced exercise. This fall I took on some light janitorial duties in the apartment building where I live. One of these duties includes shoveling snow. Because I performed this task two or three times a day during the storm, even while the snow was falling—I didn’t want it to pile up, as I am too old to shovel a foot of snow—I got a good daily workout Friday through Monday. On Saturday before shoveling, I read an article on men, heart attacks, and shoveling snow. This article inspired me to greater efforts, but as you can see, I am still here.
Cooking. For whatever reason, falling snow prompts me to hit the stove. Perhaps some survival instinct? At any rate, between Thursday evening and Sunday evening I had concocted and then eaten or frozen the following: chili, spaghetti sauce, blueberry banana smoothies, pork chops and peas, turkey Italian sausages, and chicken soup. The freezer is full.
Working: I ended the snowstorm with my school papers graded for the week and all my lessons planned for the week. I mapped out next year’s academic schedule. I even caught up on most of my emails from students and parents. I read a mystery novel and then wrote a review of the book just in time to make the deadline for the Smoky Mountain News Magazine. I posted a couple of articles on my sit, and shot down another twenty pages of editing a movie book. I discovered that I am productive in confinement. (Now that I am old and wasted, I have sometimes pondered the joys of being locked up in the state pen. Just think of the possibilities: free rent, free meals, free medical care, a library, pencils and paper for writing, lots of exercise. Truth to tell, such incarceration used to be my primary retirement plan, but the downside deters these plans: the other prisoners.)
Acts of goodwill: I helped two of my neighbors and two strangers with various vehicle problems. From my porch I watched as several others did the same. My favorite incident: a truck was spinning on the ice at the intersection of Cumberland and Chestnut. Within ten seconds, the man in the truck behind the stuck vehicle had joined a pedestrian to push the spinning truck off the ice. Snow and other disasters often bring out the best in people.
One more example here: Years ago, a tornado hit Winston-Salem, North Carolina. My mother, who lived in Winston, decided to come to Waynesville, where I was living, to get away from the fallen trees and the noise of chain saws. That very evening a violent wind shook the town, and a tree branch shattered my mother’s windshield. I ran outside in the rain and the wind to remove the branch, and was struggling when a man from the state subsidized housing next door ran across my driveway. He saw me, helped me lift the branch off the car, and then dashed through my backyard and disappeared into the darkness. A few moments later, a police car pulled into the driveway. The officer asked if I had seen anyone leaving the dwelling next door. I replied vaguely, saying someone may have run off somewhere toward the downtown, the opposite direction taken by the man.. Well, what would you do? Some criminal had stopped to assist me. What was I supposed to say? Tell the officer exactly where the man had gone? I couldn’t do it.
Serenity: The silence of snow brings peace to my soul.
Housework: My son’s former bedroom cleaned: check. Carpets vacuumed: check. Dishes washed: check. (Lots of cooking means lots of dishwashing.) Bathroom cleaned, including tiles in shower: check.
Car: No driving for four straight days. Whoooo-hoooo!
City life: I live near Downtown Asheville and walked twice to Harris Teeter on Merrimon Avenue, not for necessities but just to buy a few treats and enjoy the walk. I love the sound of boots walking in the snow.
Gratitude: This snow made me keenly aware of all those who in spite of the weather keep the wheels turning: the people trying to plow the streets, the police and the fire department keeping us safe (lots of sirens where I live), the nurses, doctors, and others who brave the weather. Many thanks to all of you.
Kisses from heaven....
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