Have you heard the news? We might get some snow. I know, I know. You Pittsburghians and New Englanders scoff at our excitement, at our definition of "snow." But hey, we Southerners will take what we can get.
Before I go any further, I want to show you this:
Any guesses as to what this might be? The answer will appear later in this post.
I really shouldn't get my hopes up about snow because I can probably count on one hand the times I've experienced snow in my life. At most, two hands, which is good because that's all I've got. When I was still living at home, every time the weathermen would predict snow, my mom and I would get so excited. We'd stay up super late waiting for the snow to arrive. We'd check outside periodically to see if there was something, anything, falling. We'd usually go to bed dejected and have to arise at our normal early hour and go about our day disappointed and exhausted.
But every now and then our faith would be rewarded. And then we'd don the horribly inappropriate winter weather gear we owned -- not much! -- and head out. No matter what time it was we would always go for a walk in the falling snow. When I was in elementary school we lived near a small park and we'd always head there.
I wish I'd had a camera to record the scene, but I can still see it so clearly in my mind's eye. Everything so silent, still. Large flakes falling gently, quietly collecting on the branches, on the grass. As we approached the park, the streetlights wore halos. In the park was a small creek, crossed by a short bridge. Under the shade of the trees, the light dimmed but grew brighter as it began to reflect off the gathering snow. We'd circle the park, then head home.
In the morning, we'd wake, don our soggy coats and galoshes and head out again. We didn't dare drive. Southerners get so little snow we have no experience driving in it and the really smart ones among us know that and don't even venture out. We'd walk downtown, to Bojangles, where all the old men sat drinking coffee. We'd fortify ourselves with a hearty biscuit and some coffee for my mom and ice-cold Coke for me. Then we'd head back home.
Usually, by day two the snow would be gone. And we'd be back to our daily routines. Until the next time the weatherman said snow.
Now, as for the mystery item from the top of this post. Any guesses?
THAT, my friends is a 30 year old pizza pan that lived one glorious day as a snow sled! When I was about six or seven years old we got an amazing snow. Probably one of the best in my life. But, as I mentioned before, we were sorely lacking in snow paraphernalia. So, my mom got the brilliant idea to break out the pizza pans and we spent a glorious day sledding down a hill near my house. It is a very happy memory from my childhood.
Mr. Daddy wonders why I hang onto the pan. It has survived several moves with us but the thing is completely worthless. You can't cook a single thing on it because the surface is so bent and scratched. But I keep it for the memories. And for the eternal hope of snow. One day, maybe, it will have a chance to shine again.
6 years ago