With Plastic Wonder Bread Wrappers Protecting Our Feet

When I was young, snow days were like gifts from God. Nestled in my bed, early in the AM, I would listen to the radio and pray the next school announced as closed, would be that of my own. 

Often, every school within a 35 mile radius would be closed, except mine. I learned early - life could be cruel. But I never gave up hope. Although, to a nine year old, nothing is worse than trudging through the school doors knowing every other kid in the county is home, enjoying a free day. While I was forced to eat greasy potato chips out of a Ziploc baggie at lunch, everyone else was home eating chicken noodle soup while watching their mom’s soap operas on TV. 

On the rare occasion when my school was canceled, I spent much of the afternoon playing outside. Back then the snowbanks lining the roads went into the tree branches. One could easily jump off their one story house and land safely in the fluffy, deep snow below. Although I never tried such a thing; I knew kids who did.

Half the mission of playing outside was carried out inside. My brother and I donned hats and scarves that carried with them a particular odor; a smell belonging only to these certain items; not a good smell, but not bad either. The crinkling sound of our snow pants while we lumbered around trying to locate missing gloves. The way we would get too hot while standing inside. The loss of finger dexterity once we slid our hands into our oversized mittens. 

Growing up on a farm, meant even if the roads were near impassible for others, my dad had no problem. Firing up the 4x4 diesel orchard truck, he would cart my mother into town to stock up on groceries. When most people were nervously counting how many eggs they had left, we were wealthy with fresh bread and munchies. 

It never occurred to me, back then, that these gifts dropped from heaven, were primarily enjoyed only by those living in the northern regions of the country. Then again, back then, I never really thought much beyond my own backyard. Unless staying home due to some illness, whether real or faked, kids in the southern states never were able to enjoy watching the Price Is Right inside, while the snowplows worked hard to clear the roads outside. I so loved the Price Is Right. I loved it when after one contestant gave their price, the next would give theirs, which was one dollar less than the previous contestant. I couldn't believe someone would do such a dastardly thing. Had I been there, I would've punched the guy who pulled such a mean-spirited stunt. Daytime TV was so thrilling. 

I loved those moments. Of course now, generally speaking, snow days are a thing of the past. Unless near death awaits us on the icy, snow covered roads, we, as grown ups, still have to venture out and report somewhere. I’m not a fan of such things. I like days stolen away from the normal routine. Days that sit separate from the rest. 

Sane