Slivers of Light

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A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks this morning; crystalline flakes, light and silvery like slivers of shattered glass—and as light as Hawaiian shaved ice—covered my windshield. The sky overhead was still a dark bluish-black, but it reflected the early morning light of the city on the underside.

I slid into the driver’s seat of my car and fired up the ignition. The light of the headlights ignited the area in front of me, as I turned on the windshield wipers. The snow fluttered from the windows as I backed out; my headlights catching these silver splinters as they glistened and sparkled like glitter.

I smiled because—for just the tiniest of moments—these slivers of light made it feel like Christmas.

March 17th

Pin It Today is St. Patrick’s Day.

I don’t have anything extraordinary planned for today; in fact, I can’t ever recall having ever planning anything for this particular holiday. Maybe green icing on sugar cookies in my elementary school years, perhaps a leprechaun stamp on that day’s papers from a teacher, or attempting to talk like Lucky from the Lucky Charms commercials (‘They’re magically delicious!’), but never really a full-blow party or anything like that.

Wear green. Of course, this was always the ritual—unless I wanted to be pinched by that one particular girl in school, but seeking the pinches of that one eleven year-old goddess came with a price…it seemed that everybody else in the peasant class would freely partake the ritual of pinching as well, when seeing the absence of the sanctified color.

Like piranhas, really.

Some things just aren’t worth it, you know? Even for a simple, sixth grade crush…especially when said goddess may not have felt inclined to pinch you at all.

It seems that at schools today St. Patrick’s Day is not heralded like it once was, back in the days when snowball fighting was allowed—usually with the teachers coming out and plastering their students with gigantic spheres of sloggy slush. I’ve figured out now that this was simply payback to certain students—probably—and a way to vent pent-up frustrations. I can think of a few kids my teachers would have wanted to (and did) hit with a few snowballs…hard. It seemed that they always went for those two or three kids.

That’s probably why it’s against school regulations today.

Bummer.

But I contemplated not wearing green today.

Being an elementary school teacher myself I decided against this as I gazed at my wardrobe this morning. Though there is much less it seems in the time-honored practice of pinching for not wearing this sacred color, it really still is all about customs, right?

I grabbed the green tie.

And will probably pick up some nasty, green-iced cookies on my way to school.

After all, it’s all about tradition.

White Rain

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Isn’t it customary to want what it is that we do not currently have?

The past few days have been a veritable heat wave for this time of year—students sporting shorts and t-shirts at school; then again, I guess some of them do that year round. The weather has been wonderful.

This morning I felt a longing for rain—or perhaps snow, something to reflect upon. I am not the biggest snow enthusiast there is; however, there is something calming and wonderful about seeing the large, crystalline flakes drifting from the heavens like manna.

I got ready for the day—after all, one never knows when they might have to run out for a bit, and it would be nice to have already showered. Since being dressed was not really a concern, I slipped back into comfortable pajamas. I moved quietly to the window, convinced that there would be neither rain nor snow, and yet I had a strange hope that there would be. I opened the blinds and found myself surprised as I was greeted with tiny, silvery, flakes drifting from a melancholy sky.

I sat and watched them for quite awhile. The flakes began to grow in size and started to multiply. Like cottonwood fluff carrying seeds bustling with new life. The soft flakes were soon joined by others, and a slight wind picked up, driving them like a pale rainstorm.

All is right with the world. All is new.

The Visitor

Pin It I was sitting in my kitchen this morning reading up on blogs and such when I heard an odd out-of-place buzzing sound. Startled, I looked quickly around the room.

Out of nowhere swooped a fly.

I don’t know why.

This particular insect hadn’t been here before, and I started to wonder how it came to be in my home on a morning when the snow is falling in troves. I always leave for work in the early morning when it’s nearly dark out and freezing, and I return home again when it’s nearly dark and freezinger. In fact, I couldn’t recall having seen any flies outside for weeks, and yet here was this little guy coming from nowhere.

And why hadn’t I seen him before now?

Was this an early Christmas miracle? I thought. A reminder of something? Perhaps that summer—though seemingly gone—was still there, beneath the piled-up snow? An omen of sorts?

I began to wonder about this little bug as it landed on the ceiling and regarded me with its many-faceted eyes. For a time, I just sat and stared back, my mind spinning with the possibilities of how this little critter had come to join me for breakfast.

Then I sucked it up with the vacuum cleaner.

Wintersong

Pin It As I went outside yesterday afternoon to an overcast sky which hinted at snow, but it offered up nothing; I ventured out into the frigid air to run errands, as well as pick up odds and ends from the store. I traveled from one place to another, and still the skies were silent. I began to feel a bit of lackluster at the grey afternoon when, while conversing with a friend I happened upon in the parking lot of the local market, a few flakes began to fall from what had previously been a silent sky. My friend and I both looked at each other and grinned.

As I drove home, a few flakes settled on my windshield as I waited at the light; the perfect, little six-pointed creation began to melt upon striking the windshield and, gathering strength from others who’d met the same fate, streaked down the glass. It wasn’t long before a small flurry gathered strength—the first flakes had brought their fellows with them, and in their steady stream they floated down from the heavens.

I arrived home and pushed open the front door, greeted with the condition of warmth I’d left it in earlier, and the hint of fresh cider lingering on the air. I ignited the lights on the tree and into the playlist went Amy Grant and David Archuleta.

The warm, fiery glow of Christmas burst to life, even though the snow soon ceased. I found myself amazed how simple little things like sights, smells, and sounds can combine to create a feast for memory—a smorgasbord of the senses; whether in remembering those things from the past, or storing new memories for days of future perusal.

I braved the cold again to check the mail at the end of the street, it was there that I found a package awaiting me—laying amongst the offers for insurance discounts and utility bills.

It was from a fellow blogger.


Ah, Christmas was even more so alive and well, as I feasted on Christmas delights which (as claimed) contained no rat poison or arsenic.

I basked in the simple pleasures which were mine, and made my way to a restful night’s slumber. You can imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning to discover inches of cotton-fluff blanketing the world in an array of spotless white.

I felt myself becoming excited—the first real snowfall always tends to make me think of newness, of new beginnings, of sledding down deadly hills at breakneck speeds on silver runners which—really—have no existent way to steer or to stop. It brings to light the memories of yesteryear when the snow was never a burden, but instead something to take pleasure in—opening up limitless possibilities to build and create, to eat, and to pelt others with when they ventured out.

Outside, the snow still falls. Memories remain. Blogging can wait.

I need to enjoy the wonders of this glorious phenomena while it is mine.

Repost - The Gift

Pin It Originally posted on January 25, 2009

I am a firm believer that we can be the hands and feet of God; moving and serving each other as he would if he were here walking among us. In the words of Alabama: "...there are angels among us." There have been, in my own life, times when I have been at the receiving hands of these angels in disguise.

I stumbled across my journals tonight. I was looking for something else when I found the stack of books I’d not looked at in years. One of these drew my attention. It was a blue, hardcover journal I’d written a flurry of years ago; in a time when I was making that transition from boyhood to manhood. In the front of this journal I wrote something a few years after my original entries:

“…In all the things in life we do, everything contains lessons…if only we look hard enough to see them.”

For the next few posts, I would like to share a few of the ‘gems’ hidden away in these pages…nestled amongst the frivolity and stupidity of a boy who has changed in so many ways from this person he once was, and in other ways, changed because of these experiences.

Rewind: 12 or so years ago.

When I graduated high school I moved to Spokane, Washington.

I worked at Ernst Home Center.

I also worked at a movie theater.

I used to sell popcorn and tear tickets.

Yet, during this time I never realized just how much the people at the movie theater cared about me.

On November 14th I was just finishing my shift at the theater; Vince Brown, one of the managers, said that he needed to see me after work.

I waited at the box office until Vince was done counting deposits.

He saw me waiting and asked me to follow him outside. I walked with him to his car in the lightly-falling snow, the white flakes spotting my black vest like flakes of ash from a bonfire.

Vince said that he wanted to show me something.

When we got to his car, he unlocked the back door and reached inside, saying, “Now, this is just a little something from me, and someone else who wishes to remain anonymous.”

He pulled out a large J.C. Penny bag.

I knew what was in that bag, even before he handed it to me.

“Vince, I can’t take that.” I protested, holding up both hands.

Vince shook his head, thrust the bag into my hands and said, “People care about you, and you need to let them do things for you every once and awhile.”

He looked at me for another second. As I made to protest again he added, “You’ve been on the ‘giving’ end for so long, you need to know what it’s like being on the ‘getting’ end.”

With that he turned and walked away, leaving me in the falling snow, clutching the plastic bag with trembling fingers.

I watched as Vince returned to the theater without looking back, and I realized that I was crying. I stood there for nearly another minute…snowflakes settling in my hair and on my shoulders.

I had been coming to work that winter without a coat. I had lost my last one nearly a year before, and hadn’t put the money aside to buy another one yet. I figured that I could get by for the time being with a sweatshirt…which I did.

I remember Vince, Diane Cahalan, & Cori Wetzel all asking me at one time or another where my coat was. I always told them that I didn’t need one.

They hadn’t believed me.

As I opened the bag I saw the black and blue St. John’s Bay winter coat.

I felt a little ashamed that I had this jacket. It was undoubtedly expensive, and I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

I trudged to my car, wiping the snow away from the windshield and looked up at the darkened heavens. The snow continued to fall, and everything about me was silent. It was as if the entire world was asleep and I was the only one awake.

I opened my car door and put the bag inside, standing out in the chilly air, my breath appearing before me as puffs of steam. I reached back into my car and took the bag out. I removed the coat and slipped it over my shoulders.

It felt warm. Warm from the kindness of others

For my local friends

Pin It For those of you who live nearby who went to bed to a snowstorm, and woke up to this:



Happy April.

Happy Thursday

Pin It So, what does one do when it’s approaching midnight and they cannot seem to fall asleep? In the old days, I’d have simply tossed and turned for a couple of hours.

Not anymore. Now, I blog.

Isn’t it interesting that little things happen which tend to make our day just a little bit brighter? Knowing that someone—somewhere—took the time to do a small act of service simply to remind us that we are important?

I left work this evening with a migraine which had taken over sometime around 9:00 this morning, and had dominated my pain receptors the entire day.

It was simply too much.

When I was leaving work at 5:00, I stepped out into the softly falling snow, which blew and eddied about my feet in washes of eggshell. I put my laptop, as well as other various and sundry items, into my car. It was at this particular juncture of time that I noticed the envelope situated on my windshield, partially veiled under a dusting of fresh snow.

The envelope simply read:


I had no idea that Thursday was such a cause for celebration of messages or gifts; however, this mattered not. So, despite the migraine pounding in my skull, I felt a sense of gratitude as I tore open the envelope and a small, folded piece of paper fell into my hand.


Now, who can’t find gratitude for a free Dr. Pepper?

Especially when he has a headache at the time?

Now, I have a fair idea of who this item is from, so I’ll simply tell this person out stalking the neighborhoods planting small gifts of friendship and appreciation….

Thanks. It meant a lot. Not only to the headache, but to me.

Sunset snowfall

Pin It Last night the snow was falling from the heavens.

As I sat at my kitchen counter composing a post for the day, the sun broke through the distant clouds on the horizon out over the lake.

I looked out the window, and found myself amazed at the sheer beauty this world has to offer.


I went outside and stood in the falling snow, glazed over with an iridescent wash of evening light.


This world, indeed, is a wonderful place.

I promised myself

Pin It I stepped out of my warm home into the swirling of white flakes in the breaking of first morning light.

The mountains flanking the valley were blanketed in an array of ashen blue.

The call of the daybreak filled me with exhilaration…

I felt energized for the day.

I was excited for work.

I found myself thrilled with the fact that I’d be seeing my students.

I was going to get bagels at Einstein.

This thought had percolated in my subconscious mind yesterday afternoon…I was thinking of these fabulous bagels—possibly the best on the planet—and I decided to stop and get a few after work.

Unfortunately, they were closed for the day.

Curses.

I made myself a promise that I’d go back today before I went to work.




I made good on my promise, and am glad that I did.

Journal – The Gift

Pin It I stumbled across my journals tonight. I was looking for something else when I found the stack of books I’d not looked at in years. One of these drew my attention. It was a blue, hardcover journal I’d written a flurry of years ago; in a time when I was making that transition from boyhood to manhood. In the front of this journal I wrote something a few years after my original entries:

“…In all the things in life we do, everything contains lessons…if only we look hard enough to see them.”

For the next few posts, I would like to share a few of the ‘gems’ hidden away in these pages…nestled amongst the frivolity and stupidity of a boy who has changed in so many ways from this person he once was, and in other ways, changed because of these experiences.

Rewind: 12 or so years ago.

When I graduated high school I moved to Spokane, Washington.

I worked at Ernst Home Center.

I also worked at a movie theater.

I used to sell popcorn and tear tickets.

Yet, during this time I never realized just how much the people at the movie theater cared about me.

On November 14th I was just finishing my shift at the theater; Vince Brown, one of the managers, said that he needed to see me after work.

I waited at the box office until Vince was done counting deposits.

He saw me waiting and asked me to follow him outside. I walked with him to his car in the lightly-falling snow, the white flakes spotting my black vest like flakes of ash from a bonfire.

Vince said that he wanted to show me something.

When we got to his car, he unlocked the back door and reached inside, saying, “Now, this is just a little something from me, and someone else who wishes to remain anonymous.”

He pulled out a large J.C. Penny bag.

I knew what was in that bag, even before he handed it to me.

“Vince, I can’t take that.” I protested, holding up both hands.

Vince shook his head, thrust the bag into my hands and said, “People care about you, Jason. You need to let them do things for you every once and awhile.”

He looked at me for another second. As I made to protest again he added, “You’ve been on the ‘giving’ end for so long, you need to know what it’s like being on the ‘getting’ end.”

With that he turned and walked away, leaving me in the falling snow, clutching the plastic bag with trembling fingers.

I watched as Vince returned to the theater without looking back, and I realized that I was crying. I stood there for nearly another minute…snowflakes settling in my hair and on my shoulders.

I had been coming to work that winter without a coat. I had lost my last one nearly a year before, and hadn’t put the money aside to buy another one yet. I figured that I could get by for the time being with a sweatshirt…which I did.

I remember Vince, Diane Cahalan, & Cori Wetzel all asking me at one time or another where my coat was. I always told them that I didn’t need one.

They hadn’t believed me.

As I opened the bag I saw the black and blue St. John’s Bay winter coat.

I felt a little ashamed that I had this jacket. It was undoubtedly expensive, and I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

I trudged to my car, wiping the snow away from the windshield and looked up at the darkened heavens. The snow continued to fall, and everything about me was silent. It was as if the entire world was asleep and I was the only one awake.

I opened my car door and put the bag inside, standing out in the chilly air, my breath appearing before me as puffs of steam. I reached back into my car and took the bag out. I removed the coat and slipped it over my shoulders.

It felt warm. Warm from the kindness of others

A trip to the Arctic

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I’d been meaning to travel to distant lands for a long time. They’d always been in my mind, but never had I had the chance to actually go…until now.

Over the Christmas Break I had the photoistic opportunity of a lifetime. I was able to travel to the Antarctic, where the world is a vast wasteland of crystalline formations, bluish slabs of ice, and potato-flake snow.

Okay, it wasn’t really Antarctica, but I did head to Utah Lake on New Year’s Eve after a photoshoot to see what kind of images I could glean if only I were patient enough. I found myself amazed at what could be captured when one adjusts the shutter speed, the aperture, or zooms in just a few more millimeters. Of course, time makes a big difference in this process as well. I’m not the most patient of people as a generalization; however, with a band like Nine Days along for the wait, it makes the moments like this seem not quite so long…





I did venture out a safe distance onto the frozen lake; however, just know that I didn’t journey out too far (there were ice fishers out much farther than I was…no panicking, Dad).

Like I mentioned before, I took an awful lot of time, and was out on the lake for nearly two hours. As I watched the subtle changes of light, and angle of the shots I was to take, a whole glistening world was opened to my eyes—beauty which was always there, just previously nestled in some minute, unseen place. As the sunlight waned, the colors became increasingly richer…bringing an orchestra of light which glossed and coated itself over the frosty ice.

Undoubtedly though, you tire of my narration, so it is without further ado that I share these images, very small glimpses of a very large lake.

Monday Photoshoot

Pin It Yesterday I took on a photoshoot of two adorable little boys at the park. Admittedly, it was much more complicated in attempts of getting shots of the older brother; mostly because he was so anxious to try this, that, and everything else; he was hardly standing still for even a moment. Meanwhile, his younger brother was a much easier subject from the simple fact that is mobility was limited to shorter legs and thick snow.

The shoot only took about twenty minutes in all; because of the weather they were both soon ready to head indoors to warmth and undoubtedly episodes of Blue’s Clues and Sesame Street; however, I was able to catch a few first-rate snapshots before they did so.

My next shoot is tomorrow…after that, I have nothing else booked for this week’s photo adventure. Well, maybe a trip to southern Utah if nothing else comes up. To be honest, I really haven’t quite decided as of yet.

The Forklift Snowplow

Pin It All the snow we’ve gotten over the past few days has reminded me of living in Washington, and the storms we’d get there.

As I was readying for the holidays and clearing out some boxes, I came across a Polaroid snapshot of when I was working at Ernst Home Center and at the Newport Cinemas after I graduated from high school.

As I looked at this photo, I could clearly remember that particular winter where it had snowed quite hard, and I was working out in the lumber yard. Unfortunately, people wanting to pick up supplies were not able to get them if they were in a car without four-wheel drive. We, in turn, were forced to carry these items out to them.

Not too much fun in a foot of snow, to be sure.

To help combat this problem I created this little beauty…I called it, “The Forklift Plow.” It worked like magic, and I was able to clear the entire back lot.

I guess you could say that I was a hero that day.

I could sure use that plow again right now…

Untitled

Pin It The gods of winter were showing no mercy, as I braved the icy roads and swirling cyclones of crystallized air.

I was on a mission.

I had to reach the post office to send off a gift, so that it would arrive before Christmas Day.

I figured that with the weather as terrible as it was, the streets would be nearly empty; those with errands to run, would naturally decide to save their last-minute rushing for another day.

I was wrong. It was as if the bad weather were actually a driving magnet. It felt like rush hour in the middle of town, with everyone creeping along with white knuckles between ten and twelve miles per hour.

Heck, it might even be Christmas by the time I would finally be able to reach the post office.

When I arrived at my destination I was a bit dismayed to see the parking lot jammed full of cars. Wouldn’t you know it, I hadn’t brought my headphones either so my iPod was next to worthless; I was already imagining the line I’d have to stand in which would probably stretch from here until Valentine’s Day…that is, if I didn’t die from old age first.

As I entered into the building I saw that the line was indeed long…how long? Let’s just say that I could have listened to Stairway to Heaven five or six times—the long version—before I would be able to make any headway through that line to send off my package.

I took in a deep breath, braced myself for the worst, and then to what to my wandering eyes should appear? A self-service machine in the foyer with only two people in front of it! Could this be real? I mean, if this machine really did allow you to send mail, why weren’t there more people lined up to utilize its services?

I could only surmise that it was from ignorance.

Well, I promptly joined the ‘self-service’ line and in the time it took Silver Bells to finish playing on the overheads, I was out once-again in a wintry wonderland, and well on my way to a warm, cozy home.

Best of all…I was home before Christmas.

The Breakfast Club

Pin It One could blog about how it snowed in their town. They could talk about the hill behind their home, and the troves of children who were sledding down the icy slopes, bundled in warm coats and hats.

I won’t.

I will, however, blog about the breakfast club…a group of friends of mine from my old school. It is these people with whom which I have breakfast once each month. I really do love these people; they I’ve worked with, laughed with, and even cried with over the past eight years of my life. It was wonderful finding out what was going on in their various lives after ‘moving on’ (or not) from the ‘old school.’

It is through these outings that I’ve discovered that it is not really things which make a place special, but the people who are there. Once those people are gone, that special place usually becomes a bit less than it once was…

We ended up sitting there for over 2 hours—just laughing and talking, and it didn’t feel like it in the slightest. Unfortunately, I don’t have a group shot, but only a few of one or two of us…guess you’ll just have to imagine what we all looked like there together.

When it finally came time to leave, I felt a bit sad—it will be an entire month until we all get together again…however, that’s only 30 days, right?

On my way home I decided to take a few photos of the precipitation falling from the heavens, but unfortunately I didn’t have my D60 with me. I did, however, have my new little Nikon CoolPix S550. This wasn’t the camera I’d want to do any serious photography with, but it was better than nothing and I gave it my best shot.



It in return, gave me its best shot as well...

Waiting for Snow

Pin It I awoke this morning, and when I looked out the window I found myself barraged with feelings of nostalgia; I gazed out into a world arrayed in spotless white.

I remembered the first snowfalls from when I was just a boy...

Bundling up in a warm marshmallow coat, with scarf and mittens; anxious to rush out and capture the first flakes upon my tongue. After all, you had to catch it from the sky or you might pick up a handful with snow spiders already in it. Ah, the glistening whiteness which made the entire world new, and the familiar become less than so.

The first snowfall—there’s something truly magical about it, isn’t there?

As I tore my eyes from the window, I fumbled for my camera to capture the moment. But alas, the moment was not to be captured with a photograph, but instead with a snapshot of memory.

So, I share this memory with you with the words and music of John McCutcheon, and his beautifully-written image, Waiting for Snow:




The nights are so long
They shorten the day
Over the mountains
The sky’s turning gray
The geese all fly southward
As homeward they go
I’m sitting here waiting
And waiting for snow

Waiting for snow
The first of the year
I just can’t believe
That it almost is here
Like cousins and Christmas
And places to go
Nothing takes longer
Than waiting for snow

Waiting for sledding
Waiting for fun
Piled high around me
Bright mountains of sun
Waiting for snowballs
For shouting and laughter
For sliding down hillsides
With hot chocolate after

Waiting for snow
The first of the year
I just can’t believe
That it almost is here
Like cousins and Christmas
And places to go
Nothing takes longer
Than waiting for snow

The longer I’m waiting
The longer it takes
`Til I stick out my tongue
To catch the first flakes
Wash your face in the snow
You’ll be pretty all year
Look out the window
It’s finally here

Waiting for snow
Waiting for you
To bundle me up
Like you always do
Your glove in my mitten
Together we’ll go
To make footprints and angels
In our brand new snow

Waiting for snow
The first of the year
I just can’t believe
That it almost is here
Like cousins and Christmas
And places to go
Nothing takes longer
Than waiting for snow

The nights are so long
They shorten the day
Over the mountains
The sky’s turning gray
The geese all fly southward
As homeward they go
I’m sitting here waiting
And waiting
And waiting
And waiting

Snowcones

Pin It I went to a ball game yesterday for an old student. Well, not an OLD student as he is only 12. As I sat at the game, I suddenly began to notice that the group around me at large was all eating snow cones. Now, I happen to love snow cones. I remember looking forward to getting them every time my family and I went to Chataqua each year or the country fair.

Feeling this definite need, I strode to the concessions stand where I unfortunately had to wait behind a group of prepubescent, giggly girls. After a millennia of deciding what it was that they wanted, the kid behind the counter promptly went off to get their various and sundry items. I have a distinct feeling that he felt he needed to make the cheese for their nachos himself and freeze the ice especially for these girls, I felt this as I realized that I was aging as I stood there…waiting.

Yet the incessant beckon of the snow cone was relentless.

I waited.

After a few major holidays had passed—as well as a few birthdays—the girls finally left the stand talking a bit louder and acting a bit more goofy than necessary. Ah, the inhibitions of youth (or perhaps idiocy). It became my turn at the window.

“Once snow cone, please…lime.”

The boy nodded to show his comprehension and, this time heading off to Antarctica to get the ice, finally returned with my frozen delight sometime between then and the millennium. However, this did not matter; I just knew it would be worth the wait in the end. Already my palette was watering for a taste of that syrupy-sweetened icy goodness.

I returned to the game and discovered that an entire inning has lapsed in my absence. Curse those giggly girls! Ah well, it mattered not. I had my snow cone and I was ready to enjoy it.

I took my first bite.

It didn’t taste…right. What had happened to that wonderful arctic goodness? To that sickly-sweet flavor? To the wintry-sugary taste?

Something was definitely amiss. This was not the same delightful treat I’d enjoyed as a kid. This was not what I’d envisioned as I stood at the counter…feeling my lifetime draining away..

I did eat about half of the snow cone, more out of duty than enjoyment. Finally, I decided that it wasn’t worth it in the end and threw the remainder in the trash.

The game soon ended, and the team I’d been supporting was victorious. However, I still felt unfilled. I drove home and made a batch of cookie dough. I haven’t eaten any yet, but it’s in the freezer, waiting…thank goodness for that doughy-cookie goodness.

Who needs snow cones anyway?

Snowed In

Pin It I’m currently up north of Tremonton, Utah. I came up on Friday night with my friend, Verlene, to visit my good friend (and her brother), Hazen, along with his family. We’ve been having a fun time up here with the Sedgwicks, but you can imagine my surprise when Hazen told me to look outside this morning and I saw this:



Well, we ended up shoveling for several hours just to clear the driveway and it wasn’t until later this evening that we’ve seen any sign of snowplows. The roads up here are pretty bad (neighbors couldn’t get back to their houses once they’d left) so Verlene and I decided to not try to venture out on the freeway and other roads until tomorrow. Hazen and I decided to make the best of it, and we had a snowball fight with his two oldest boys and then made “snow ice cream.” The kids loved it though it tasted a lot more like iced milk to tell you the truth.

I hadn’t expected the weather to be so terrible, but we’re going to make the best of it. Looks like I won’t be back in time for “LOST” night after all…sorry guys.

Snowflakes

Pin It

I was walking down the evening road.
The deep, white snow filled the air
It made not a sound,
The smell of moisture heavy on the wind
It tasted cold on my tongue.