Flashback to 1993.
When pilfering through Mr. Lambert's shelf of books that he provided for students to borrow, I decided on Ice Station Zebra by Alistair MacLean. There were rumors, even forecasts, of a historic snowstorm, perhaps even a blizzard in the North Georgia area. A possibility of 18 inches of snow and several days out of school made this seem like a good reading choice.
Plans were made for my two best friends and I to spend the night together so that we could all enjoy the snow together. Enjoy. That is such a foreign sounding term to associate with snow now. I'm sure people in New York or even my beloved Maine family members might think nothing of being stuck up to their armpits in a snow drift but that stuff ain't supposed to happen in Georgia. And 18 inches of wet Georgia snow drops pine trees on power lines everywhere. It was a disaster. In the chaos that followed, I wound up returning the book to Mr. Lambert unread.
Thus began my rivalry with winter. I've never even read that book. I think I'm afraid to.
These days I don't mind so much if some snow falls while we're in the mountains on a trip or something, but I still don't enjoy winter weather at home. Cold weather is just downright un-Southern.
I'm writing this while the low temperatures for the next two days are 9 and 11, respectively. Anytime there are fewer degrees than teams in the SEC that's a problem. If I go outside and find my car door handles frozen shut, that's a problem. If the vapor from your breath freezes in front of your face and falls to your feet with a clink, that's a problem. Christmastime is over. Football season is over. Winter has worn out its welcome. Time for it to be moving on.
And we're still almost a full month from the anniversary of The Blizzard and almost 2 months away from the all clear for frost. So I shan't be trying to catch up on Ice Station Zebra any time in the next 60 days.
Instead, I'm opting to do a sun dance. No, not the film festival, I mean the opposite of a rain or snow dance. It might look a lot like Chunk the Goonie's famous "Truffle Shuffle". After all, I'm a writer, not a dancer. But if it keeps the sun out and the snow away, it's well worth any embarrassment it might require.
Stay warm, Y'all,
Historian, self-proclaimed gentleman, agrarian-at-heart, & curator extraordinaire