Snow Fell on Alabama

There's a rare mingling of sensations with a new-fallen snow.  Fresh yet familiar.  Excitement mixed with a remarkable quiet.

And every time feels like the first time.

Only a few things in life are like that, I think.  Christmas is like that.  The day you feel the first hint of fall in the air.  Sunsets are a bit like that. The beginning of college football each year is like that for me.

And here in the South, snow is like that.

After many letdowns and missed predictions the past two weeks, we finally got a beautiful, snowman-able snow on Wednesday.  And it was even more than they had predicted.  (I like to think of our local weather forecasters in terms of a Dos Equis commercial: "We don't always correctly predict when it's going to snow, but when we do, we severely underestimate the amount.")

It began around 2 o'clock in the afternoon and by sunset (when I went out to measure) we had nearly seven inches.  It continued to snow, though a bit lighter, until I went to bed.  My guesstimate would be we got around 9 inches.

So deep it was that I didn't go into work Thursday morning.  Anyone who knows me knows it takes an act of Congress for me to miss work.  (OK, so I actually did go in for about two hours around lunch.  Apparently there was a filibuster.)

Here are a few pics from our veritable winter wonderland...

"In the lane, snow is glistenin'..."

Where there's snow, there must be snow creme.

This looked like a postcard, except with poorer resolution.  Much, much poorer.

Hard to believe in a month, this yard will be covered with grass. And mosquitoes.

With apologies to Arthur Miller, I call this one "Death of a Snowman." (Biff Snowman?)

I'm sure it's comical for those in northern climes to see how we in the South react to snow.  Schools close.  Roads close.  (All roads were deemed impassable sometime Wednesday evening.)  Heck, even the Walmart closed this time.

People scurry to the store to stock up on milk, bread, and eggs like it's 1848 and they're at Independence, Missouri, stocking up the wagon for the arduous, months-long trip to the Willamette Valley.

And then there's the driving.

One guy had gotten stuck attempting to back out of his driveway.  This idiot had foregone shoveling any snow and somehow maneuvered his car to where it was now nearly perpendicular to the driveway.  So he was out there shoveling (It was more of a spade, really.  I mean, let's call a spade a spade, eh?) and had some poor woman out there attempting to help him, except she was using a garden hoe.  I can only assume she felt sorry for the hopeless sap.

It's not difficult to imagine every single person that passed during that twenty-minute ordeal were laughing heartily.

As for me, I didn't laugh.  But I was pret-ty sore the next day from all the shoveling.

"Forty-six, anechoic / Forty-seven, blown from polar fur / Forty-eight, vanishing world / Forty-nine, mistral despair..."

Music Monday: Horizons

It's twilight.  Chilly, but not awful for February.

The forecast is calling for 4 to 6 inches of snow tomorrow.  Of course, we've had approximately eleven winter weather advisories in the past fourteen days, and it has snowed exactly once.  All of a quarter-inch.

The night is mostly clear.  Here on the outskirts, half a mile from the city limit sign, it's dark enough to enjoy the evening sky.

Venus is the most radiant.  Hanging above the western horizon.  I realize my knowledge of Earth's sister planet is limited.  I know that's where women are from and that's pretty much it.  Then I remember a couple of ex-girlfriends I haven't heard from in years, and assume they must have returned to the mother planet.

Barely visible at Venus's five o'clock is Mars.  The two are so close together!  I enjoy the spectacle.  And wonder how Earth looks from there.

When I think of Mars, I always think of George Bush saying we're going to send a man to Mars, which leads my mind to Will Ferrell as George Bush, and I smile.

Overhead, I find the well-adorned Orion with his belt of three stars.  I see Betelgeuse. Then to the left and a bit lower, there is Sirius.  

Using a star gazer app on my phone, I am able to locate Jupiter in the eastern sky.  This makes me think of the movie "2010: The Year We Make Contact" and the message: "All these worlds are yours except Europa.  Attempt no landing there.  Use them together.  Use them in peace."  I shake my head at how I can remember that line exactly, yet can't ever seem to remember much else.

An airliner in a holding pattern circles overhead.  It looks for all the world like it will knock Jupiter right out of the heavens.  I watch to see if it will eclipse the planet, but its turn takes it barely below.

By now, my neck has begun to hurt from all the craning.  I think about how difficult it must have been for sailors in olden days, what with all the no-stargazing-and-sailing distracted boating laws.  And it strikes me that I may have just inadvertently solved the Titanic mystery.   

As I start to go in, my last view is of the horizon.  It's one of my favorite views.  Giant trees, skeletons of winter, against the evening sky.

Horizons.  It feels as if I'm standing squarely between two right now. 

I am in the midst of quite a lot of changes -- in life, not with my blog template -- and likely more are on the way.  As one who typically loathes and fights change, it seems all the more strange that this is me -- calm, content, and at peace with it all.

On the one side, I see the hope and challenges of tomorrow with its untested waters and brand new adventures.

On the other, the light has begun to fade on the day that was, with its different adventures, misadventures, familiar paths and beautiful indiscretions.  The people and places from these days evermore sewn into my soul.

So as much as I'm looking forward, and I am, there will always be times I will look back.  With a smile in my heart and nostalgia in my eye.

For I have loved these days.



"We're going wrong, we're gaining weight / We're sleeping long and far too late / And so it's time to change our ways / But I've loved these days..."

The Snow & The South

Snowpocalypse.  Snowtastrophe.  Snow-anu Reeves.  Whatever you want to call it, the latest winter disaster has come and gone.  And while we only got a few flakes here in Boneville, parts south and east of here were left paralyzed beneath two inches of snow and ice.

Personally, I prefer to call it Snownado, if only because I would hope to get Ian Ziering to star in the documentary.  In fact, I would like to copyright "snownado" at this time, as much as it is possible to copyright a thing by writing it in a blog.

Some have even chosen to use the occasion to poke fun at the South.  Oh sure, first we lose the Civil War, allegedly, and now this.  That's piling on a bit, don't you think?

I wonder if any of these union sympathizers are aware that a human being can drown in less than two inches of water.  And we all know where snow comes from, right?  Hang on, let me Wikipedia this....  Ah, just as I thought: frozen water! 

To understand snow in the South, you must first understand that actual snow and the possibility of snow are two very different things.

The possibility of snow is the more common occurrence.  Far more common.

Several times per winter -- I'd guesstimate twelve to fifteen -- our trusty local weathermen will call for a chance of snow.  This despite the fact we only get one or two measurable snows in a good year.  Is trusty the right word?

This forecast of snow sets in motion a semi-chaotic, yet selfsame response akin to kicking an ant hill, wherein thousands of people flock to their local supermarket to purchase two items:

Milk.

And bread.

For reasons I've yet to fully understand, this seems to be the number one key to surviving a Snowmageddon in the South.  Salt trucks, portable heaters, generators -- those things are nice.  But you first must have your milk and your bread or you will find yourself in an unspeakable state of... something... terrible.  I guess.

And if it's supposed to snow on Friday, don't wait until Thursday night to try and purchase your milk and your bread.  For then, my friend, you will have found yourself a real life character in one of Aesop's fabled... well, fables.

You will be the grasshopper, left with no bread and a pint of half and half, if you're lucky.  While the rest of the ants who prepared for the winter (storm) will be drinking their gallons of 1% and eating Sunbeam for days! 

Now once the possibility of snow is put forth by those prognosticators of nature, as you might guess that becomes the main topic of conversation anywhere you go.  "Do you think it's gonna snow?"  "Are y'all ready for the snow?"  "Man, I hope it snows!"  And of course, "Have you got your milk and bread yet?"

Another occurrence that has become popular in recent years is delaying or canceling schools at the mere mention of snow.  A few weeks ago, several school systems announced on Friday that they would be delaying school by two hours on Monday morning because there was a chance of snow on Sunday.  Which for some reason just makes me want to tell someone I'd gladly pay them Tuesday for a hamburger today.

I think just maybe we're paying a little too much credence to these extended forecasts.  As my friend (as I'm sure he would be if we had ever met) and Super Bowl commercial star Jerry Seinfeld once said, "If the five-day forecast were accurate, we'd only need to watch the weather every five days."

Now let's talk about that rare and wonderful phenomenon known as actual snow, as it pertains to the Deep South.

Actual snow dominates the conversation even more than the possibility of snow.  "It's snowing!!!"  "Is it snowing there yet?"  "Have ya'll been out to play in it?"  And of course, "Thank goodness I got my milk and bread yesterday."

If there is snow on the roads, even as much as a quarter of an inch, businesses close, schools close for days!  No one goes anywhere.  Quite simply, everything shuts down.  And we're fine with that.

We don't have some Joe Road Grader coming by every ten minutes to clear our roads.  You wanna know what we use to clear our roads if it snows?  Only a little ball of burning gases known as the sun.  Perhaps you've heard of it.

So without trivial things such as work, school, or driving to contend with, we are free to enjoy the snow as I believe it was intended:  As the central ingredient of snow cream.  That's basically some parts snow, some parts milk, some parts sugar, and a touch of vanilla.  Good thing we bought that milk.

We make snowmen, and snow angels. We go sledding, even though we have little to no sledding experience.  This sometimes leads to injuries and trips to the ER.  And we're fine with that.

But we don't drive.

That's what made last week's snownado aftermath so perplexing at first.  And yet, once I really thought about it, it made perfect sense.

We were driving.  ("We" meaning Southerners.)  It started snowing.  So we stopped our cars in the middle of the interstate, said "Eff this crap," and waited for somebody on an ATV to come and get us.  Fortunately, based on some raw data I accumulated by driving down a back road the other day and looking in people's yards, like 87% of Southerners own an ATV.

I did see on Twitter one of the Birmingham weathermen was apologizing for badly botching the forecast last week. That might help explain why so many were on the roads as if there were no possibility of snow whatsoever.

Naturally, there is another chance of snow in our forecast for this weekend.  Thereupon, I am reminded of one of Aesop's lesser known tales: 

The weatherman who cried wolf.

"April, all an ocean away / Is this the better way to spend the day / Keeping the winter at bay..."

These are the great snows of my life

Another week, another blizzard.

Sunday night brought eight inches of snow to our sleepy town. I feel like I'm getting used to the snow -- like this is the new norm. Monday morning, I drove into work for half a day. There were literally only two other cars on the road. I thought I did fairly well considering my limited previous experience (which includes both a 270-degree spin as well as the mailbox incident). I suppose I have to credit my new-found snowy-road driving skills to the DK Summit Course on Mario Kart.

I've made snow creme, a snowman (aka "got my Frosty on), and a snow angel, thrown snow balls, had hot chocolate, and attempted to go sledding on a knee board (didn't work). I'm not sure what more I can do, aside from building a cozy fire. And the last time I tried that the landlord seemed a little perturbed.

Do you have any idea how rare it is for us to have two snowman-able snows in one winter? It hasn't happened in over four thousand years. OK, maybe not that long, but I can't recall it ever happening. Of course, I also can't recall what I had for supper last night, so take that as you will.

It has gotten me to thinking about significant snows of the past that I've experienced. The first one that came to mind was the ice storm of '85.

I'm pretty sure it was a Thursday or Friday morning in late January or early February. I was eleven and still living with my parents at the time. The power went out very early. I remember lying in bed and hearing these thunderous, window-rattling booms and seeing what looked like green lightning through the windows. I thought it must literally be thunder, but Dad said that the transformers were exploding.

Dad had to go to work regardless. They had a generator where he worked, and since we had no power or heat, he loaded us all in the car -- Mom, my sister and me -- and off we went. We didn't get far.

What looked like six or seven inches of peaceful, unblemished snow turned out to be several inches of snow covered with a thick, solid sheet of ice. Dad must not have known that because as soon as he backed out of the carport, the old Monte Carlo hit the ice and skidded straight into the ditch. A cop with tire chains pulled us out, I think, and carried Dad on into work. Fortunately, that's the only time I ever saw Dad carried away in a patrol car.

I don't remember how long we were without power, but I don't think more than a day. Of course, living in town we were among the first to get power back. Others went without it for days. I do distinctly remember the power coming back on before the cable did and playing Combat on the Atari 2600 for hours. The rest of that extended weekend was spent playing in the snow and ice. It was so slick you could have about sledded uphill.

I fully expected to be out of school for a couple of days -- by the end of the weekend, most everything had melted -- but then we wound up being out of school for at least two more days the next week, too. Counting Saturday and Sunday, we were out of school for five or six days straight. Talk about hitting the snow-day lottery.

It is true that the South completely shuts down with even an inch or two of snow. But never in my life were things shut down for as long as they were during the ice storm of '85. I've never seen anything like it before or since.

"I wonder if she thinks about Jackson Hole. Nights beside the fire and angels in the snow..."

My one chance to meet Larry Bird and I blew it

Please pardon my (lack of) progress. I've been trying to decide whether to blog about the end of last year or look ahead to the new year. Took me five days to decide: enough dwelling on the past, I'm looking to the future.

Therefore today, I do hereby resolve to be even less productive, less ambitious, to sleep even more and care even less in 2011. That's right, folks. Bone is mailing it in! You cannot possibly underestimate my plans for the new year.

This means the only way I can disappoint myself is by accomplishing too much. My only fear is productivity. After all, if this 2012 Mayan stuff is true, this is most likely the last year any of us are gonna be on the Earth anyway. No sense stressing myself out.

At first glance, it might appear that I have been slacking, or not slacking as the case may be. I've managed to clean up all the Christmas gifts from downstairs. But worry not. I only moved them upstairs where they are still waiting for me to put them away. Also, I took the tree down Sunday. But I noticed Monday that I'd left the wreath on the door. Then I looked across the street and saw that the neighbors still had their wreath up so I didn't feel so bad. Some men look to others to find inspiration. I look to others to not make me feel so bad about myself.

Not that I don't have dreams. I do. Just last night, for instance, I dreamt of Larry Bird. The Celtics were getting ready to play the Lakers and Robert Parish had apparently been traded to the Lakers. So as the Celtics came onto the court, I reached out and patted Larry on the back and said, "Torch 'em, LB" or something lame like that. I have no idea what the dream meant, but today at work I realized I was wearing a Celtic-green t-shirt.

Speaking of dreams, for Christmas this year, I got the best present any 37-year-old kid could ever hope for -- a white Christmas! I had been dreaming of one of those for some years now. I awakened to 2-3 inches of snow on Christmas morn, the first white Christmas we've had here since I was but a teen. In other words, a long, long time.

OK, so I guess I am looking back, just a bit. In other noteworthy events which have occurred over the past 300 hours or so...

Festivus was a success-tivus. An overflow crowd of fourteen attended this year, narrowly missing the all-time record of fifteen, set the previous year. (Evidently, I feel it necessary to document each Festivus in writing in case Guinness Book ever comes calling. And by "comes calling," I mean, "answers any of my many inquiries.")

For the first time in the history of Festivus, there were more female attendees than male. And it wasn't even really close -- 8 to 6! I've racked my brain trying to decide what could be drawing all these females to Festivus, and here's what I've come up with: I think girls really enjoy airing their grievances. I know, I know, I have a hard time believing it even as I'm typing it, but they truly seemed to relish the chance to gripe, er, grieve.

And... well, that's pretty much all that's happened. Besides, this is already the most work I've done all year.

H to the N to the Y! (Oh, I'm also working on my street lingo for 2011.)

"You're the best girl that I ever did see. The great Larry Bird, jersey 33. When you take a sip you buzz like a hornet. Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets..."

Snow, patrol

I'm not sure wherefore to beginneth today. Dost I tellest thou about my latest run-in with the law (yes, I'm serious), or my real-life Christmas movie moment?

I'm guessing you want the deets on my most recent legal troubles first. So here goes. It was Friday night and we were putting up my Christmas tree. Or as they say on the streets, laying down evergreen on a vertical tip. I had TSO blasting at a moderate level of 7 on my Phillips 10-inch SFS's (street slang for Standard Factory Speakers).

Next thing I know, fuzz be ringin' my doorbell again. And by "again," I mean, "for the first time in ages". Apparently, the neighbors complained that the music was too loud and they were trying to sleep. On Friday night. At 10 PM. "I'll take care of this," I said to the popo. Then I promptly went straight over to the stereo and cut the volume down to an only-dogs-can-hear-it volume of 3.

If you're keeping score, or just entering data into my personal criminal record, that's two confrontations with police in the last three weeks -- one "following too closely" and one "disturbing the peace."

Basically, I'm the bad boy of the blogosphere. I just hope they have Wi-Fi in the hoosegow, because that's obviously where I'm headed.

PART DEUX

Sunday afternoon, I attended the TSO concert in Nashville. It was another phenomenal show. TSO is one of those groups that, when you see them live, makes you want to become a musician. And they must have brought the weather with them from Siberia because Nashville wound up getting two to three inches of snow.

Two to three inches of snow in the South is like a foot or more anywhere else. Restaurants close early. Schools close at even the possibility of snow. And if it's snowing, then the stores have already long since run out of milk and bread. Not to mention the traffic. Cars are sliding everywhere. People are out pushing. We must have passed ten cars that had run off the road.

And all I can say is it was, in a word, gorgeous.

It's not often, if ever, that I've gotten to enjoy a white Christmas. But walking down the streets of Nashville -- with the snow-covered roof of the old Ryman towering over the bars of Lower Broadway, the stores all in their holiday trim and with Christmas music playing, and the snow falling fast and almost sideways -- for a moment it was like a scene out of virtually every Christmas movie I've ever seen. An image from any of a thousand Christmas cards.

No, it wasn't quite yet Christmas Day. But it was most definitely Christmas.

"And maybe down in Memphis, Graceland's all in lights. And in Atlanta, Georgia, there's peace on earth tonight. Christmas in Dixie. It's snowin' in the pines..."

Men will be boys

It snowed this morning. In Alabama. In March. I don't think there's any doubt we are headed for 2012. I never saw the movie, but as I understand it 2012 is a year the ancient Mayans predicted would occur a couple of years from now. It is going to be like Y2K on crack. And there will be mayhem. And Prince will write a song about it. It is our destiny. It is inevitable. And there is nothing we can do to stop it. (Which, I believe, would be the definition of inevitable.)

In other slightly less doom-impending news, I nearly relapsed this weekend.

After venturing out Friday night only long enough to get some catfish, Saturday found me in the familiar position of wanting to spend the entire weekend in Hermitville. This desire was intensified exponentially by SoapNet airing a 90210 marathon during the period of time in question.

It wasn't even the good 90210s, either. It was after Dylan and Brenda left. Jim and Cindy had moved to Hong Kong. Kelly Kapowski had joined the cast and everybody was pretty much living, partying and/or spending the night at Casa Walsh. Still, that theme song gets me every time. Duh-duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh, chh-chh...

So there I was, having the classic devil-on-one-shoulder-angel-on-the-other moment. Active social butterfly angel was imploring, "Get up you lazy schmuck. It's a beautiful day outside. You should go and play golf." Meanwhile, hermit devil was doing his best to lure me back into the throes of hermit-itis: "Stay in bed. You love it here. You can golf anytime. How often does SoapNet have a 90210 marathon? Besides, they might go back and show an old episode like Donna Martin Graduates and you wouldn't wanna miss that, would you?"

As convincing as hermit devil was, after two-and-a-half episodes I'd had my fill of Donna and David's incessant bickering. So I decided to call LJ and we went and golfed. It was fifty degrees and sunny out, but the wind chill must have been about four. I had no idea fifty degrees could feel so cold!

It soon became apparent that my carefully chosen ensemble of khaki pants and thin black mock turtleneck pullover was not going to provide the warmth I desired. One of my fingers did that losing-color-and-going-numb thing from holes three through eight. But after that, the feeling returned, my frostbite fears subsided and it was fun. And for it being my first time golfing this decade, I played OK. I only lost two balls.

And one club.

That's right, upstanding citizen and otherwise mild-mannered blogger Bone lost a nine iron in the lake, accidentally. And by lost, I mean chucked. And by accidentally, I mean sort of on purpose. Cringe.

In my defense, the club did not appear to be working properly. It was supposed to hit the ball high into the air landing on the green. Instead, it scooted the ball along the ground about forty yards. I just as well have hit it with a log.

Oh, I couldn't be more embarrassed. When I wrote the Nine iron over the starboard side post three years ago, I never dreamt it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Maybe the anger management classes will be on the same night and just down the hall from the 90210 support group.

"I didn't go to boarding schools. Preppy girls never looked at me. Why should they? I ain't nobody, got nothing in my pocket. Beverly Hills, that's where I want to be..."

Love me, love me, say that you love me

Remember that song? Lovefool. Cardigans. 1996. It's been stuck in my head. All. Weekend. Long. I've been walking around singing it in my well-polished falsetto, which I first honed while imitating the inimitable Jordan Knight on "I'll Be Loving You Forever" in 1989.

The ability to get a song stuck in someone else's head is one of my little known talents. Some might even say an annoyance. Still, for some reason I was having a bit of trouble getting anybody to pick up on this one.

Saturday night, we went ice skating at the local ice complex, tween hangout & Brian Boitano training facility. (Actually, I just made the Brian Boitano part up.) There were six in our group--Kywana, myself, Little Joe, and two minors. That's down forty-five percent from last year's Valentine Date Skate. I blame the decrease largely on the threat of Winter Storm '09, which would leave us buried beneath half an inch of snow by Sunday morning.

Skating was fairly uneventful. I fell three times, which as I stated last year is actually pretty fun. Honestly, I think I could start calling it body sledding and have all the kids doing it. I've always wanted to be the person who started something. Like the Macarena. Or the wave. Or the guy in that Michael Jackson song, Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'.

There was an entertaining little guy dressed in a toboggan who kept trying to teach us tricks. I assume he worked there, but he could have just been a poser. Anyway, he was kinda corny. He made me think of somebody who would've been on Mister Rogers Neighborhood. Say if Mister Rogers took his neighbors to an ice rink during an episode, this would be the guy at the ice rink showing Mister Rogers around.

As we were getting ready to leave, the female fragment of Kywana looked over at all our shoes sitting underneath a bench.

"Who's shoes are those?" she asked.

"Those are Little Joe's," I responded, shielding my eyes. I already knew which pair she was referring to. That would be the blindingly bright brand new solid white Reeboks. LJ has been wearing solid white Reeboks since the 80's and hasn't looked back. I honestly don't know how he keeps finding places that sell them. They looked like something you'd see on display in a shoe museum.

After skating, I headed over to LJ's and wound up shooting pool with him and Wolfgang for a bit. LJ had gone to the bathroom or something and it was his turn, so we were just standing around waiting. Without warning and probably without thinking, Wolfgang busted out in song.

"Love me, love me, say that you love me."

Yessss! Still got it.

"Leave me, leave me, just say that you need me. I don't care about anything but you..."

It's the Great Snowman, Charlie Brown

Well, they've done it to me again. Who are they, you might ask. They are the local weather forecasters, aka the bane of my existence. And they're crying snow again. Twice this week there was a chance of snow in the forecast. Yet here I sit--mittens at the ready--still waiting for the first flurry.

They are Lucy to my Charlie Brown, snatching the football of snow away time and again just as I get ready to kick it. Every winter, once or twice a week they call for snow. And every year, we get maybe one dusting the entire winter. Leaving my hope lying flat on its back and mumbling a disgruntled "good grief." OK, I think we've gone about as far as we can with the Peanuts analogy.

Weather forecaster seems to be the only profession where you can be wrong half the time and face no repercussions whatsoever. And they're completely unapologetic the next day. A little groveling would be nice. Do they not realize that at some point everyone is going to figure out they can get the exact same thing from weather.com, the Weather Pixie (I prefer Weathergirl #6) or a hundred other websites?

This is why I think we should just let the Vegas oddsmakers handle the weather. They seem to be right more often than meteorologists anyway. An eighty percent chance of rain? That's four to one odds right there. Two inches of snow accumulation? I got fifty on the under. If weathermen started losing money everytime they missed the forecast, I don't think they'd be so Gung-ho about crying snow.

A good friend asked the other day if I had ever thought of becoming a weatherman when I grow up. My answer was no. First of all, I'm nowhere close to being grown up. Secondly, I don't see how they show up to work day after day after day when they are wrong so frequently. It'd be like playing for the Washington Generals. And C of all, I'd be way too honest.

This would be a Bone forecast: "You want to know the truth? I have no frickin' idea if it's gonna rain. None of us do. It's not raining now, that's about all I can tell you. I did, however, spend the afternoon drawing these cool smiley face sunshines and mean-looking clouds for the five-day forecast. It took me about four hours. It's probably the best one I've ever done.

So rain or shine, sleet or snow, who the heck knows. Have a great weekend. Brian's up next with sports."



"Oh the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

Since I've no place to go

To me, snow is truly a wonder. There's a magic to it. A beautiful quietness that can only ever be matched by the next snowfall. Snow brings out the the kid in me, the dreamer, and the believer. It restores hope. I figure if it can still snow here, anything is possible.

It reminds me that God is still there. And for a few all too brief moments, it feels like nothing very bad can happen with the world...



It snowed!!!

No, I'm not on vacation in Greenland. It snowed here! In Alabama!

Our forecast for yesterday didn't mention snow. It called for rain possibly changing over to sleet. So naturally, it started snowing around 2:00. It began as light flurries and looked for awhile as if that's all it would be. But by the time I left work, it was--to quote a lady who called the office yesterday--"snowin' like crazy."

When I got home, I opened the blinds and watched it for awhile. Then I put on my gloves--which quite possibly might be the first time I've ever worn them even though I've had them at least two or three years--and went outside to play. I mean, um, to take pictures. And make snowballs. Or, a snowball, which I managed to construct from snow that had accumulated atop my grill.

It was a little vexing as to why no other kids in my 'hood were outside playing. I considered having a snowball fight with myself, but again, I just had the one. So I came inside and put my snowball in the freezer alongside the artificial boutonniere (don't ask). I then made some hot chocolate, drank it too fast and scalded my tongue. I guess when you don't drink hot chocolate that often, you kinda get out of practice.

Our local TV stations were breaking in every ten or fifteen minutes with snow updates. Sure, we barely got a dusting and there was never any snow on the roads, but it doesn't matter. In the past, schools here have actually closed just because there was a possibility of snow. Nevermind the fact that we've had exactly two snowfalls of more than an inch in the past seven years.

I know the amount of snow we got might not amount to a hill of beans in a lot of places. But this is our hill, and these are our beans. (Bonus points if you know what movie that's from.) Even the smallest amount of snow is a big deal here. We call friends and relatives to see if it's snowing where they are. There's a buzz in the air, a tangible excitement seemingly shared by everyone. It's snowing. And for awhile everything seems to revolve around that fact alone.

My sister called to tell me she was "getting" to drive home from work in the snow. When I told her I had made a snowball, she started laughing and said, "That's funny. I just talked to Dad. He was making snowballs at work."

A grown man making snowballs. Who ever heard of such.

"Remember me when you're out walkin'. When the snow falls high outside your door. Late at night when you're not sleepin', and moonlight falls across your floor. When I can't hurt you anymore..."

One man's dusting is another man's blizzard

Well, I'm on new Blogger now. Not by choice. I was forced to switch over, or never post on my blog again.

While attempting to sign in today, I was rather rudely informed that I would no longer be able to sign in using my old Blogger account. Apparently they have all the kinks worked out of the new Blogger. (Pause for laughter.) And now they are requiring everyone to switch over.

Nevermind that new Blogger is not able to be imported to WordPress. Or that it seems to have even more issues than old Blogger. Or that after I switched, several of my comments are now showing up as anonymous.

This must be what it feels like to live under a totalitarian regime.

Blogger: The North Korea of the Blogosphere. (Copyright 1999-2007, Google.)

It snowed!

Here!

Last night!

Sure, it was in the forecast. But it's been in the forecast before. To wit, one of the local weathermen has predicted snow three times in the last week. This despite the fact I don't think it has snowed here three times in the past five years.

Shortly after midnight, I looked out the window to see if it was doing anything yet. And it was! Snow was falling. Like beautiful flakes of crystalized ice come down from heaven. I put on jeans, an old sweatshirt, socks and shoes, and ran downstairs and outside, knowing it might not last long.

Have I mentioned how much I love snow before? Well, perhaps here. And maybe here. And I suppose this might have given some clue. But if you didn't already know, I love the snow! It's beautiful and inspiring, exhilarating and peaceful, all at once.

I tried to take some pictures. Taking pictures of the snow at night is not the easiest thing. Not to mention the weird feeling that came with using the flash at 1:00 in the morning. This is about the best one I got:



The snow was a long-awaited, wonderful treat. It fell for about an hour, covering the rooftops and most of the cars. I stayed up until after 1:30 watching it, until it changed over to sleet.

This morning when I woke up, the sleet had changed to rain. And the snow was all but gone. I felt like Moses on Mount Nebo. As if I'd been given a glimpse of the promised land, but never got a chance to play in it.

Still, having seen it's majestic beauty, I can now die in peace.

"If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world..."