Winter seems to have left it’s finger print on our part of the world with a powdered sugar dusting of the white stuff. There was enough white precipitation to stick to lawns, trees, both coniferous and deciduous and any cars left outside. The morning commute evidenced many vehicles who displayed poorer driving skills because they refused to clean off the hoods of their cars. The white stuff kept blowing up and distracting them.
In general, I have strong antipathy toward the white stuff. Like the villain in the Harry Potter books that shall not be named, I can only refer to frozen wet globules as “The ‘S’ Word. The reason for that is: I just don’t like it. It’s not more complicated than that.
I don’t like that it needs to be moved around with a shovel, scraped off cars and windshields, pushed out of the way of doors and clinging to the summer furniture left out on the deck. This is a wicked reminder of warm and joyful times past that required fewer clothes and summer beverages. Never mind that one drinks those beverages to reduce internal temperatures to the current ambient temperature, it’s the principal. I didn’t even like playing outside in it as a kid. Frost bite often set in when the group of us continued throwing balls of it as if this were really fun. It wasn’t. As I recall, my neighbor Bobby kept hitting me with disturbing accuracy. His brother Jeff kept wanting to kiss me when we weren’t flailing about in knee high trenches of the stuff. Their older brother left priest school quite a few years later. Hmmm, wonder what was going on there? But that’s a different story for a different day having a different drink.
I’m not sure if getting pummeled by ice balls has made me this jaded. Don’t really care. I don’t like, you can’t make me so there! A little immaturity goes a long way in these important matters. Have to end now – hafta go out and brush off the side walk. Somebody’s gotta move the “S” stuff.