Snow!
Now I know all my northern friends will roll their eyes until it hurts, but this here's Texas, and yesterday it snowed. For a long time. And stuck to the ground. All over the yard, the cars, the trees, and the Christmas lights. We had a white roof this morning, and Grandmama, who's visiting from Laurel, MS, asked at least a dozen times whether we were absolutely certain Burgundy would have school today. I think she would have stayed another day if Burgundy had been home. I admit to a temptation to keep Burgundy home, but we'll be there in two weeks (holy cow. Is that all?) anyway.
I worked past 8PM last night, and when I left the building at 8:15, I stopped just outside the door and under the building to take it in. The world blurred in front of me, and I stepped out into the melee before I confirmed that snow indeed blanketed the wide, grassy lawns at NASA. Snow blew all around me like I existed as a little weather vortex, drawing those soft, gentle flakes to myself. My face split into an unwilling grin, and for about 2.8 seconds, I struggled with my dignity in an attempt not to giggle, sing, laugh, or talk to myself. My dignity lost, and I giggled, laughed, and let slip, "oh, oh, MY! OH!" all the way to my car. In spite of myself, I stuck to the wet, drab sidewalks. Snowflakes melted before my feet all the way to my car.
I found my car alone in the lot snuggled under a blanket of snow. I scooped a pile from the windshield and crunched it happily, continuing to giggle and jabber through my bites. I saw white flakes all over my asphalt-colored cashmere coat and reflected happily on the wisdom of knitting the mittens and clapotis scarf I wore. Finally, I climbed into the car and drove off site.
I called Burgundy's best friend, Lauren, and spoke with her dad. Lauren lives about 1/2 mile away from us on the other side of the abandoned golf course. He consented to my bizarre request, and I turned down her street while I speed-dialed Burgundy at the restaurant where she ate with Grandmama. "Burgundy," I said when she answered, "Are you almost done?" She was. "Well come home soon. Lauren and I are having a snowball fight."
I pulled into Lauren's drive and told her dad I had arrived. I scooped snow from the edges of my windshield where the wipers had moved it in their fury and waited. Of course I nailed her the moment she stepped out the door, and would you believe she whined? "That was so not cool, Miss Melissa!"
"You're not supposed to gripe, honey," I shot back. "You're supposed to scoop up a handful and throw it back at me!"
Still the blase continued, "It's just a little snow," she sassed. "I used to spend my winters in Montana."
Now I just laughed, "Honey," I said, "I lived in New Hampshire as a kid. I have seen my fair share of 'real' snow. That's why I love this so much." Then I giggled and squealed all the way home. After a final jaded comparison of my snow glee to her own boy glee, she relented.
Back at the house, I put on my tennis shoes and a pair of leather gloves, then we walked outside just as Burgundy arrived with Grandmama. The snow flew immediately. Twice I had snow in my bra, and we squared off across the cars from each other repeatedly; the cars were the best source of pine-needle-less snow.
Eventually, cold, wet and tired, we turned away from shoving snow in each other's ears and lugged all Mark's plants into the house. Grandmama said something about citrus not liking snow. Then Grandmama took the girls to the still-virgin snowfall in the backyard, where she showed them how to roll snow, and they started a snowman.
While they worked on the snowman, I made hot cocoa in the kitchen using Hershey's cocoa powder, sugar, and soy milk. Sometime while it heated, the girls finished their snowman and came inside. By finished, I mean that they stacked three equally large balls of snow on top of one another and called it a snowman. No coal, no carrot, no scarf, and sure as shootin' no hat!
Burgundy hadn't had an opportunity yet to do her homework, including Algebra, Science, and Tuba practice. I passed out cocoa with marshmallows, but I put Lauren's in a plastic cup and took her home.
I drove home where Burgundy finished her Tuba practice. While she worked on Algebra and I played Guitar Hero III, Mark finally arrived after his final exam in Calculus III. Naturally he completed the test with ease; I love smart boys!
By the time we cleaned up, put Burgundy in bed, and crawled in bed ourselves, the clock read 12:12. A late night, true, but augmented by snow. Snow in Houston.
I worked past 8PM last night, and when I left the building at 8:15, I stopped just outside the door and under the building to take it in. The world blurred in front of me, and I stepped out into the melee before I confirmed that snow indeed blanketed the wide, grassy lawns at NASA. Snow blew all around me like I existed as a little weather vortex, drawing those soft, gentle flakes to myself. My face split into an unwilling grin, and for about 2.8 seconds, I struggled with my dignity in an attempt not to giggle, sing, laugh, or talk to myself. My dignity lost, and I giggled, laughed, and let slip, "oh, oh, MY! OH!" all the way to my car. In spite of myself, I stuck to the wet, drab sidewalks. Snowflakes melted before my feet all the way to my car.
I found my car alone in the lot snuggled under a blanket of snow. I scooped a pile from the windshield and crunched it happily, continuing to giggle and jabber through my bites. I saw white flakes all over my asphalt-colored cashmere coat and reflected happily on the wisdom of knitting the mittens and clapotis scarf I wore. Finally, I climbed into the car and drove off site.
I called Burgundy's best friend, Lauren, and spoke with her dad. Lauren lives about 1/2 mile away from us on the other side of the abandoned golf course. He consented to my bizarre request, and I turned down her street while I speed-dialed Burgundy at the restaurant where she ate with Grandmama. "Burgundy," I said when she answered, "Are you almost done?" She was. "Well come home soon. Lauren and I are having a snowball fight."
I pulled into Lauren's drive and told her dad I had arrived. I scooped snow from the edges of my windshield where the wipers had moved it in their fury and waited. Of course I nailed her the moment she stepped out the door, and would you believe she whined? "That was so not cool, Miss Melissa!"
"You're not supposed to gripe, honey," I shot back. "You're supposed to scoop up a handful and throw it back at me!"
Still the blase continued, "It's just a little snow," she sassed. "I used to spend my winters in Montana."
Now I just laughed, "Honey," I said, "I lived in New Hampshire as a kid. I have seen my fair share of 'real' snow. That's why I love this so much." Then I giggled and squealed all the way home. After a final jaded comparison of my snow glee to her own boy glee, she relented.
Back at the house, I put on my tennis shoes and a pair of leather gloves, then we walked outside just as Burgundy arrived with Grandmama. The snow flew immediately. Twice I had snow in my bra, and we squared off across the cars from each other repeatedly; the cars were the best source of pine-needle-less snow.
Eventually, cold, wet and tired, we turned away from shoving snow in each other's ears and lugged all Mark's plants into the house. Grandmama said something about citrus not liking snow. Then Grandmama took the girls to the still-virgin snowfall in the backyard, where she showed them how to roll snow, and they started a snowman.
While they worked on the snowman, I made hot cocoa in the kitchen using Hershey's cocoa powder, sugar, and soy milk. Sometime while it heated, the girls finished their snowman and came inside. By finished, I mean that they stacked three equally large balls of snow on top of one another and called it a snowman. No coal, no carrot, no scarf, and sure as shootin' no hat!
Burgundy hadn't had an opportunity yet to do her homework, including Algebra, Science, and Tuba practice. I passed out cocoa with marshmallows, but I put Lauren's in a plastic cup and took her home.
I drove home where Burgundy finished her Tuba practice. While she worked on Algebra and I played Guitar Hero III, Mark finally arrived after his final exam in Calculus III. Naturally he completed the test with ease; I love smart boys!
By the time we cleaned up, put Burgundy in bed, and crawled in bed ourselves, the clock read 12:12. A late night, true, but augmented by snow. Snow in Houston.