Ice on trees: check
Fog: check
Rain freezing when it hits: check
Sleet mixed with rain: check
Temperature below freezing: check
Snow: no.
Where the heck is my snow? I don't want sleet, I don't want freezing rain, I don't want ice, baby.
I want snow.
Do I want to build a snowman?
Yes.
Yes, I do.
Runs off to pout.
Showing posts with label ice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ice. Show all posts
Monday, February 16, 2015
Monday, January 28, 2013
And They Said It Wouldn't Last!
Twenty-eight years ago, on January twenty-eighth, my husband and I tied the knot.
He was a thirty-five year old bachelor, and I was divorced after twelve years of marriage to a not so very nice person.
The night before we were to get married (which had been kept a secret to almost everybody), he came to my house for supper. We ate, watched TV, and when he got up to go home, we opened the door to a winter wonderland.
There was already about four inches of snow and ice. It had happened in a matter of a few hours.
I called the gate and asked if it was safe for him to get out. After the guard stopped laughing, he said no, no way, nope. I lived in a community that was made with the houses suspended off the mountainside, and every road was a winding, narrow snake trail. I guess that's why the guard said no.
Well, my husband to be freaked out. He kept muttering "I've waited thirty-five years to get married, and now this." He kept peering out the living room window as though the weather might miraculously improve. He paced, back in forth, in front of the couch.
He called his mama and told her he was trapped (wasn't that supposed to be what he said on our fifth anniversary?) That went over like a ton of bricks. He may have been thirty-five, but he wasn't supposed to be spending the night at some divorcee's house!
We weren't even going to tell our parents we were getting married. I had found out via the grapevine of trustworthy friends that my parents were freaking out, thinking I was on the re-bound from my divorce, and besides that, they didn't know this boy! They (Mother) were trying to find out the goods on him, by hook or crook.
But when my husband was caught red handed with a Service Merchandise Mart catalogue, turned to the WEDDING RINGS, his mama asked why was he doing that? And he said - wait for it- "A friend of mine is thinking about getting married and wanted to borrow this."
I can still, after all these years, hear her eyes rolling practically out of her head.
The final straw for her was when he was trying to sneak his suit out of the house. His mother's house. Can you imagine trying to sneak something as big as a suit out from under your mother's nose?
She flattened herself against the car door and told him he wasn't going anywhere until he told her if we were getting married. So, of course, he broke down and confessed.
Which meant I had to tell my parents.
One of my best friends (who kept her mouth shut - at least somebody did) agreed to stand up for us. The preacher's daughter was to be the other witness.
Back to the night before: I went to bed, I don't think the future husband did, even though I put clean sheets and quilts on the guest bed.
I called the gate again the morning of the wedding. They said you can't get out. I said, "B-but we are supposed to get married today."
"Well, why didn't ya say so? We'll get you out if we have to use our helicopter!" (they had a helicopter?).
They tracked our every move, waiting to rescue us from driving off a ravine, if necessary.
So, in husband-to-be's rear wheel drive Volkswagen, we crept, and finally saw the gate! WHEW!
But wait! On the other side of the gate was my ex-husband trying to wheedle his way in!!! YIKES!
The guard, who had plenty of girth and knew what was going on, stayed between the two cars, blocking old ex's view. And kept him occupied while we sped away at 5 mph. on the ice.
The groom put the James Bond theme song in the tape deck. We were so cool.
Just before we left my house that morning, the phone rang. It was husband's mama asking if she could at least pay for a few photographs to be taken at the church, since NOBODY was allowed to attend. He asked me, I said, "Sure."
She said, "That's good, because they'll be there at 3:30 p.m." Ha!
We got to the church, after I had begged a florist to make me a small bouquet to hold.
They had forgotten to turn on the heat.
We got married in forty degrees. I couldn't tell if I was shaking from nerves or cold. It was probably both.
I look back at the pictures, and even though we thought we were old (I was thirty), we look like children, with love and hope shining from our eyes.
Happy Anniversary, sweet man.
He was a thirty-five year old bachelor, and I was divorced after twelve years of marriage to a not so very nice person.
The night before we were to get married (which had been kept a secret to almost everybody), he came to my house for supper. We ate, watched TV, and when he got up to go home, we opened the door to a winter wonderland.
There was already about four inches of snow and ice. It had happened in a matter of a few hours.
I called the gate and asked if it was safe for him to get out. After the guard stopped laughing, he said no, no way, nope. I lived in a community that was made with the houses suspended off the mountainside, and every road was a winding, narrow snake trail. I guess that's why the guard said no.
Well, my husband to be freaked out. He kept muttering "I've waited thirty-five years to get married, and now this." He kept peering out the living room window as though the weather might miraculously improve. He paced, back in forth, in front of the couch.
He called his mama and told her he was trapped (wasn't that supposed to be what he said on our fifth anniversary?) That went over like a ton of bricks. He may have been thirty-five, but he wasn't supposed to be spending the night at some divorcee's house!
We weren't even going to tell our parents we were getting married. I had found out via the grapevine of trustworthy friends that my parents were freaking out, thinking I was on the re-bound from my divorce, and besides that, they didn't know this boy! They (Mother) were trying to find out the goods on him, by hook or crook.
But when my husband was caught red handed with a Service Merchandise Mart catalogue, turned to the WEDDING RINGS, his mama asked why was he doing that? And he said - wait for it- "A friend of mine is thinking about getting married and wanted to borrow this."
I can still, after all these years, hear her eyes rolling practically out of her head.
The final straw for her was when he was trying to sneak his suit out of the house. His mother's house. Can you imagine trying to sneak something as big as a suit out from under your mother's nose?
She flattened herself against the car door and told him he wasn't going anywhere until he told her if we were getting married. So, of course, he broke down and confessed.
Which meant I had to tell my parents.
One of my best friends (who kept her mouth shut - at least somebody did) agreed to stand up for us. The preacher's daughter was to be the other witness.
Back to the night before: I went to bed, I don't think the future husband did, even though I put clean sheets and quilts on the guest bed.
I called the gate again the morning of the wedding. They said you can't get out. I said, "B-but we are supposed to get married today."
"Well, why didn't ya say so? We'll get you out if we have to use our helicopter!" (they had a helicopter?).
They tracked our every move, waiting to rescue us from driving off a ravine, if necessary.
So, in husband-to-be's rear wheel drive Volkswagen, we crept, and finally saw the gate! WHEW!
But wait! On the other side of the gate was my ex-husband trying to wheedle his way in!!! YIKES!
The guard, who had plenty of girth and knew what was going on, stayed between the two cars, blocking old ex's view. And kept him occupied while we sped away at 5 mph. on the ice.
The groom put the James Bond theme song in the tape deck. We were so cool.
Just before we left my house that morning, the phone rang. It was husband's mama asking if she could at least pay for a few photographs to be taken at the church, since NOBODY was allowed to attend. He asked me, I said, "Sure."
She said, "That's good, because they'll be there at 3:30 p.m." Ha!
We got to the church, after I had begged a florist to make me a small bouquet to hold.
They had forgotten to turn on the heat.
We got married in forty degrees. I couldn't tell if I was shaking from nerves or cold. It was probably both.
I look back at the pictures, and even though we thought we were old (I was thirty), we look like children, with love and hope shining from our eyes.
Happy Anniversary, sweet man.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Watch It Now, Watch It now! Here It Comes!
Yeah, right.
We have heard the weathermen cry wolf so many times, the next blizzard will catch us by surprise. We'll be out in the yard raking leaves in our bikinis and the bodies will be found come spring, when the 27 inches of snow melt.
Of course, tomorrow, the ice will really come. That's because my husband and I have tickets to the play, "Driving Miss Daisy" up in Blue Ridge. We are celebrating our 28th wedding anniversary come the 28th of January, and thought this a good way to start up the celebration.
I love snow. I'm careful who I say that around, because rank strangers will either leap up and yell, "So do I!" and give you a bear hug. OR a rank stranger will give me the evil eye and mutter curses under their breath.
I've always been told to never speak to a stranger, and I guess that's why.
My childhood was full of snow. Every winter we had some "good" snows, that being two inches or more. I didn't have to walk up hill both ways in the snow to school, because they called school off.
I do remember in seventh grade it snowed so much and we missed so much school that we had to go to school on a Saturday. I was horrified. I kept waiting for some level-headed adult to say, "Sadly, we cannot do that. It is against the law."
At least we only had to go till noon that day.
Another winter, I think I was in third or fourth grade, the school superintendent called everybody who lived in town and asked for those children to walk to school the next day so it could count as a school day, as we had missed so much already.
There are downsides to living in a small town.
I went to school that day. It was so cold, those old radiators didn't work too well, so we sat in semi-circles around them with our coats and gloves on. I think the entire attendance of third and fourth grade fit in those two little semi-circles in one room. Mrs. Dover read stories to us all day.
Maybe it is childhood selective memory, but I have lots of them of snow in my childhood winters. Snow cream, snowball fights, snowmen, trying to figure out how you could go up the sidewalk to visit a friend without splattering yourself all over said sidewalk, because it was so slick where people had packed the snow down into a hard, solid surface.
I remember one snowy day our oil heater, which was the only heat in our big old house, stopped up. My Daddy was lying on the living room floor in his undershirt with his arm shoved up the stoves innards. He was covered in soot and his hair stood straight up. He was saying words that should be reserved for barrooms. I was trying not to laugh; valuing my life, and all.
It took days for our house to warm up after the heater started working because it was so cold. And of course, there was no such thing as insulation in the walls.
Beds had so many quilts on them, it was a concentrated effort to turn over during the night. And you didn't much want to, as you'd lose your warm spot if you weren't careful.
But I loved it. If ice comes I hope it brings snow too, not wimpy freezing rain. That's just dangerous and no fun. We'll stay home on our mountain, maybe build a fire in the fireplace. I've got flannel and wool and quilts and four cats.
Insulation, the old fashioned kind.
We have heard the weathermen cry wolf so many times, the next blizzard will catch us by surprise. We'll be out in the yard raking leaves in our bikinis and the bodies will be found come spring, when the 27 inches of snow melt.
Of course, tomorrow, the ice will really come. That's because my husband and I have tickets to the play, "Driving Miss Daisy" up in Blue Ridge. We are celebrating our 28th wedding anniversary come the 28th of January, and thought this a good way to start up the celebration.
I love snow. I'm careful who I say that around, because rank strangers will either leap up and yell, "So do I!" and give you a bear hug. OR a rank stranger will give me the evil eye and mutter curses under their breath.
I've always been told to never speak to a stranger, and I guess that's why.
My childhood was full of snow. Every winter we had some "good" snows, that being two inches or more. I didn't have to walk up hill both ways in the snow to school, because they called school off.
I do remember in seventh grade it snowed so much and we missed so much school that we had to go to school on a Saturday. I was horrified. I kept waiting for some level-headed adult to say, "Sadly, we cannot do that. It is against the law."
At least we only had to go till noon that day.
Another winter, I think I was in third or fourth grade, the school superintendent called everybody who lived in town and asked for those children to walk to school the next day so it could count as a school day, as we had missed so much already.
There are downsides to living in a small town.
I went to school that day. It was so cold, those old radiators didn't work too well, so we sat in semi-circles around them with our coats and gloves on. I think the entire attendance of third and fourth grade fit in those two little semi-circles in one room. Mrs. Dover read stories to us all day.
Maybe it is childhood selective memory, but I have lots of them of snow in my childhood winters. Snow cream, snowball fights, snowmen, trying to figure out how you could go up the sidewalk to visit a friend without splattering yourself all over said sidewalk, because it was so slick where people had packed the snow down into a hard, solid surface.
I remember one snowy day our oil heater, which was the only heat in our big old house, stopped up. My Daddy was lying on the living room floor in his undershirt with his arm shoved up the stoves innards. He was covered in soot and his hair stood straight up. He was saying words that should be reserved for barrooms. I was trying not to laugh; valuing my life, and all.
It took days for our house to warm up after the heater started working because it was so cold. And of course, there was no such thing as insulation in the walls.
Beds had so many quilts on them, it was a concentrated effort to turn over during the night. And you didn't much want to, as you'd lose your warm spot if you weren't careful.
But I loved it. If ice comes I hope it brings snow too, not wimpy freezing rain. That's just dangerous and no fun. We'll stay home on our mountain, maybe build a fire in the fireplace. I've got flannel and wool and quilts and four cats.
Insulation, the old fashioned kind.
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