Her daffodils are
dying from an
April snowstorm that was
not supposed to get here
til November.
There’s nothing to do but look out the back and listen to “Cold, Rain and Snow” by the Dead. Three inches on the lawn is as inspiring as it is exhausting.
dying from an
April snowstorm that was
not supposed to get here
til November.
There’s nothing to do but look out the back and listen to “Cold, Rain and Snow” by the Dead. Three inches on the lawn is as inspiring as it is exhausting.
“It’s now snowed for seven months.” Alexis says. “And it got down to 26 below in January.”
Wet socks and sniffles get into your soul. Wind, gripping cold, ice, sleet, and gray skies shake you awake.
“Maybe one day we’ll move to where it’s warm. Or become snowbirds.”
I have an attachment to this area like you wouldn’t believe. Seven score and eight years ago, my forefathers set forth upon this sediment with trepidation, covered in soot and dedicated to the proposition that all Region Rats are related cheapskates.
Take a drive right now. Alexis and I just did to check on her parents. This was a risky venture in that many municipalities have already removed the plows from their trucks. They have to contract out snow removal. We got behind three rentals on the way to Culver’s.
Even the snort
machines pretend
that the long struggle through
cold, rain and snow hasn't
been all that bad.
Her parents love Culver’s. So do I. The fish dinner beats all, especially when it’s hot. Alexis does not respect Culver’s. The only time I get it is during snowstorms. Her parents and I also share an affinity for Long John Silvers, which, as you could probably guess, Alexis does not.
As the three or four of you know, I’m 57-years-old and still studying. It’s fairly accepted among MBA students that you gotta give up your Saturdays. I spent all of yesterday putting together an email campaign for Matt Hanson’s Digital Marketing Class. Eight hours in this chair typing, researching, drawing graphs and hating myself.
It culminates in a presentation at 8pm tonight. I’ll log onto a Webex meeting and so will Hanson. He’ll listen for a few minutes, ask a couple questions, and then move on to the next frustrated marketing student.
“That’s it?” I’ll tell Alexis. “A dozen hours I spent on this damn thing and it’s over in ten minutes?”
It’s not Hanson. It’s the cold. It should be gone by now. I left this area in 1980 for warmth. All through high school – on weekends, after school, over Christmas - I worked construction in bitter cold. Playing baseball in California on an 80-degree day in late January was a dream.
Lonely dumpster
on a snowy
day. I would love to help
you out, but I gotta
be on my way.
Thanks for listening to me bitch about the weather. Is it getting better? No, it’s still snowing. Alexis’s daffodils are drooping, screaming, gasping for life. They only get three weeks a year and old man winter came and took that away.
Wet socks and sniffles get into your soul. Wind, gripping cold, ice, sleet, and gray skies shake you awake.
“Maybe one day we’ll move to where it’s warm. Or become snowbirds.”
I have an attachment to this area like you wouldn’t believe. Seven score and eight years ago, my forefathers set forth upon this sediment with trepidation, covered in soot and dedicated to the proposition that all Region Rats are related cheapskates.
Take a drive right now. Alexis and I just did to check on her parents. This was a risky venture in that many municipalities have already removed the plows from their trucks. They have to contract out snow removal. We got behind three rentals on the way to Culver’s.
Even the snort
machines pretend
that the long struggle through
cold, rain and snow hasn't
been all that bad.
Her parents love Culver’s. So do I. The fish dinner beats all, especially when it’s hot. Alexis does not respect Culver’s. The only time I get it is during snowstorms. Her parents and I also share an affinity for Long John Silvers, which, as you could probably guess, Alexis does not.
As the three or four of you know, I’m 57-years-old and still studying. It’s fairly accepted among MBA students that you gotta give up your Saturdays. I spent all of yesterday putting together an email campaign for Matt Hanson’s Digital Marketing Class. Eight hours in this chair typing, researching, drawing graphs and hating myself.
It culminates in a presentation at 8pm tonight. I’ll log onto a Webex meeting and so will Hanson. He’ll listen for a few minutes, ask a couple questions, and then move on to the next frustrated marketing student.
“That’s it?” I’ll tell Alexis. “A dozen hours I spent on this damn thing and it’s over in ten minutes?”
It’s not Hanson. It’s the cold. It should be gone by now. I left this area in 1980 for warmth. All through high school – on weekends, after school, over Christmas - I worked construction in bitter cold. Playing baseball in California on an 80-degree day in late January was a dream.
Lonely dumpster
on a snowy
day. I would love to help
you out, but I gotta
be on my way.
Thanks for listening to me bitch about the weather. Is it getting better? No, it’s still snowing. Alexis’s daffodils are drooping, screaming, gasping for life. They only get three weeks a year and old man winter came and took that away.
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