A Snow Story

Snow is beautiful. It’s perfect for sitting inside, sipping cocoa, baking cookies, and listening to Christmas music. All of which, you will note, are INDOOR activities.

When I transferred up to Millersville University in PA from Arkansas State University, it was winter. It was frigid, and my 8 a.m. class was a 15 minute walk across campus at Stayer. (Curse that Stayer!) That’s when I found out that my feet go numb in the cold and snow. Literally numb. The blood all slides out of my toes and leaves them white and lifeless, and it takes hours for them to come back to life. Sometimes I get little chillbains - patches of dead skin on the tip of a toe or two - leaving me with images of amputated toes in my future. I’m terrified of standing for too long in the snow.

Today, it snowed. A lot. It’s still going. It was beautiful. It started early in the morning in fine, wispy gusts, and turned into fat white orbs plopping on the ground by the afternoon. One inch turned to two - turned to 5. We’re supposed to have 18 inches by morning.

The kids were super excited. They rushed out first thing, putting all their snow gear on themselves and going out before Tim or I really realized that they were awake. They were a little upset that we wouldn’t take them to a sledding hill, but they quickly fixed that by turning the steps on our deck into a “hill.” It, um...sort of worked.

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It was beautiful, and exciting, and fun.

But all I could think was, “Stupid snow.” Grumble grumble grumble.

Because, you see, I’m rather attached to my toes. And Tim’s sick. He lost his voice on Thursday, and while he found it again today, it brought along an earache to visit. So he can’t go out in the stuff.

But instead of doing the responsible thing and putting layers on and grabbing the shovel and just getting it done so that Tim wouldn’t have to, I took the easy route and did all the INDOOR things I like to do when it snows. I made tons of gingerbread and double chocolate and mint chip cookies (FAB!). I also invited the neighbors over to enjoy them. I sat and talked with Tracy, while her son Gabriel played with my kids. Theoretically, this was supposed to be our reward to ourselves for AFTER we shoveled the walk and dug out the cars, but that’s a minor detail.

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(Daniel with Gabriel. They’re in the same kindergarten class, too!)

Later, Tracy sent over some dinner she’d made. Homemade caramelized onion bread and some sort of vegetarian Indian dish. They were delish. I basically have fantastic neighbors. (at least on the one side. They make up for the others.)

And Santa even came by on the fire truck just as Tracy and Gabriel were leaving.

All in all it was rather a perfect day. And I only felt a tad guilty about the shoveling still needing to be done.

Then, the doorbell rang. Two guys stood there, asking if they could shovel the walk for ten bucks. Hey, ten bucks really isn’t that much, so I said, “Uh, YEAH!” They were super fast. They earned their ten bucks well. And I sent them away with the money and a handful of cookies each.

I’m thinking the moral of the story is that procrastination pays off. It might even be God ordained, if you consider that perhaps those guys really needed that money, and so maybe God used my fear of losing toes (okay, okay, laziness) to help them out. Maybe sometimes procrastination is providential.

Or maybe I just got lucky.

Whatever. I’ll take it.