Snow III: The meltdown.

…
For as long as I can remember, the State Bird of Texas has been the Mockingbird. I think that may soon change. I believe the replacement will be the chainsaw.

Bear with me for a moment.

The warm days following the Great Snow of 2010 made quick work of the white stuff. There are still small patches in shady areas, but they will not survive beyond today.

The temperature is on its way into the 60s and the sun is blessed bright. Thank goodness. With all the cool, cloudy and wet weather, I have been unwilling to play outdoors for any length of time. As a result, I have begun to resemble Sméagol Golem. It is not just a physical thing, either. I find myself repeating “my precious” far too often for mental health purposes. Fresh air and sunshine are my best hope for regaining a human appearance.

So, back to the bird, er, chainsaw. The heavy snow demolished thousands of trees in north Texas. Not artistically gifted enough to make signs reading “Help Us,” my neighbors devote themselves to cutting and removing the destroyed trees. For the past few days, the mating call of the chainsaw has echoed thru the neighborhood from dawn 'til dusk.

I suspect a competitive element here.

Hardly a house is without a substantial “brush pile” on the curb. My place is no exception. A branch 12” in diameter dropped from high in an Ash tree and grazed my truck on its way to earth. Yesterday and today, I joined the chorus, hacking and chopping to recover the full use of my drive. (Why does it always have to be the driveway?!) I am about half done with that branch. I have several others in less critical areas. They must wait their turn.  I may have enough lumber in my yard to complete my retirement home on the ranch. 

Woo Hoo?

Even after I gave up for the day, I could hardly hear myself think. “Vroom, Buzz, Whine,” went the saws. There must be dozens of them within earshot of my home. I estimate this will continue for another week. Maybe two. That should be long enough for the legislature to act.

“Mockingbird? No!  -  Chainsaw? Si!”
…

Snow II: The Shoveling

…

Question: Why do men suffer heart attacks while shoveling snow?

Answer: Because they want to.
…

Everyone knows record-setting snows pasted Texas last week. Here is something you might not know: The temperature never dropped below freezing through this entire episode. As a result, the 12” deep snow contained approximately the same amount of water as a foot of rain. That means a 12" square; eight inches deep would weigh just north of 40 pounds. [Yike!]

I enjoyed seeing snow and to a lesser extent playing in it for the past several days. There comes a time, however, when one must get out in the world.

For me, that time arrived on Saturday. My pantry was a goody-free zone. Worse, there was no alcohol in the house. I know, because I looked. Everywhere. Even my emergency rations in the overhead light fixture and the toilet tank were gone. I was contemplating my desperate situation when the phone rang.

It was my son, Ben. He wanted to leave my 2-year-old grandson with me for a while. I subtly asked if he owned a square-nosed shovel.

“You mean a snow shovel?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

In a few minutes, his truck stopped in front of my house. Ben, Augie and the Au Pair slogged through the wet snow to my door. When I opened the door, Ben handed me a red snow shovel.

“I was tempted to throw this piece of @#$% away when we left Chicago,” he said cheerily.

After a few pleasantries, I possessed both grandson and a snow shovel. I settled Augie into the “playroom” (aka, the whole house) and stepped outside.

Until today, I never realized my driveway was a monumental edifice, worthy of inclusion with the mythic wonders of the world. “The Augean Stables have nothing on my driveway,” I thought. One scoop at a time, I began clearing the snow. Soon, I remembered my son’s advice. “In 5 minutes, you’ll be shaped like a letter ‘C’,” he said, prophetically.

“That’s ridiculous,” I thought as I gazed at my shoes. “Uh oh.” Somehow, my shoes had filled with ice water. Worse, I could not straighten my spine.

Still, I kept on. Near the end, I found a drift of snow blocking my pickup truck.

“Just this one last…” I wheezed.

I dug in and, in a few minutes, cleared the drift. My back ached. Bent in half, I retreated to admire my accomplishment. Now I know how Igor felt in those Frankenstein movies. At that exact moment, the foot deep snow on the hood decided it was time to go. Flumpf. The drift was back, as if I had not moved a spoonful of the wet stuff.

Choked with pain and frustration, I crept back into the house.

“Let’s play with the Choo-Choo!” I exclaimed.

I can buy liquor and food in spring.

...

Another Sense of Snow

…

I took the photo [left] December 2007 in Iowa. In truth, the image does not do justice to the icy beauty of the place. I was visiting Dyersville at the time, home to the “Field of Dreams.” It seemed mildly appropriate to include it here.

As the New Year begins, I find myself in a reflective mood. It has been a remarkable year. In 2009, I bid farewell the corporate rat race and began fitting myself into a life of retirement. That is retirement, not inactivity. Ready or not, I live. Recently, I almost bid farewell to my son. That sucked. The event reminded me how ephemeral life can be.  Mine.  His. Even yours.  It is our dicey existence that makes each day and every moment precious.

Now 2010 lies before me like a field of new fallen snow. In my youth, I would surely charge in, throwing snow everywhere until I was numb below the eyes. Today, I am more circumspect. I see the snowy field of 2010 as a blank canvas. I wonder what I will do with it. What marks shall I make? The year, like the snow, will not last forever. Whatever I do must be timely. I hope to add to the unspoiled beauty of the field. There is no guarantee of success, but at least I am thinking about it. As with all things, if I approach each day with a sense of discovery, I may look back to find artistry in my track across snowy 2010. That is my hope.

I hope you and I will look back on our path through this year with a sense of peace, accomplishment and wonder.

What could be better?

…