BoomerGirl Diary

Did we suddenly get transported to Minnesota? Or the North Pole? Here we are in Kansas getting more and more snow. Several days ago I thought that it was all over — it was in the 60s. I celebrated. I put on shorts and a t-shirt and took a walk. Everybody was out. The sidewalks were crowded with laughing, exuberant folks ...

Two days later it’s below zero. It snowed all morning. It’s going to snow this evening. It used to be it started snowing, and I’d be off to the grocery store. I’d stock up so that I wouldn’t have to come back for a few days and face the ice and snow. Now, I don’t even bother. I’ve stocked up so many times that my cabinets are bursting with supplies.

It’s snowing! It used to be exciting news. Now it’s almost boring. My boots got a hole in them. I’ve never worn out boots. I am forced to get out in the snow every day. The dog needs walks morning, noon, and night at the very least. So I pull on boots, heavy coat, scarf, hat, and gloves plus pick-up bags. When it’s windy sometimes I’m cussing for 20 minutes. “— why did we ever get the dog? Why can’t she hurry up?” Then I wallow in self pity, “My hands are frozen. My feet are getting there. Who cares? Why am I taking care of this stinking dog?”

I finally understand why someone wants to spend winter in Florida. I count the hours I spend clearing off the car—which is extra frustrating because we have a garage that is currently full of other stuff. I count the cold when I take the dog out. I sit in drafty rooms with my portable electric blanket, a very thoughtful gift from Zach and Meghan for Christmas.

I think of the hot beach and sand. I’m walking along and feeling the hot sand and it is heavenly. I’m letting the dog run along the beach and she is not running away or bothering anyone. It’s great.

Back to the real world. Yesterday I saw a guy out in the snow while it was falling with a blower. “Isn’t it a little early to be blowing the snow, as it comes down?”

“Just want to get a start, especially on the steps.”

The electricians have come for three days to figure out why the phones keep ringing. Apparently the wires are crossed. I guess that’s why when you turn on the light in the hall, the one in the closet also comes on. The extreme cold has everybody confused. Driving in the blowing, falling snow, even when it doesn’t stick is a pain. My husband comes in after a perilous 22-mile trip from Topeka.

“The trucks were going so fast and you could barely see…”

“Surely it won’t snow in February too … I mean this is Kansas, not Alaska or something.”

I used to laugh at the NFL football games in the snow. The players would be slipping, sliding, drop the ball. The fans were all bundled up in blankets, the refs looked frost-bitten, and even the cheerleaders had red, runny noses. Now I don’t laugh. I slip and fall outside. I come inside with my hat full of snow, my nose running like a faucet, and my hands so frozen it’s hard to get my gloves off. Snow isn’t funny anymore..

“Look, my old office mate. His picture is in the paper. He’s sledding. It said he was 75!” I hand the paper to my husband Bob.

“Hey, we could go at night. There’s plenty of light over by the education building.”

“Not enough snow. Kind of powdery, too.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“That was with the kids…”

“Remember that time Arna was determined to go down by himself. You kept telling him to watch out for the tree … He ran right into it.”

“Let’s try it.” My husband looks up doubtfully.

Now I’m looking forward to the snowstorm. We have this great plastic sled, Rubbermaid and very heavy, good for powder. I’m checking out the old wooden sled, slicking on the candle wax on the runners. Maybe it’ll be a wet, sticky snow. Florida, I think not.