The joy of a snow day

I was unprepared for snow today. I’d heard vague references to a light dusting on the weather report, but I didn’t take it seriously. In fact, I went to bed still debating whether to go to the grocery today or tomorrow. The white world that greeted me was sort of an executive decision from above. I would stay home all day. That "light dusting" came down much of the morning, sometimes heavily, sometimes little tiny flakes you could barely see. The streets, at least major, weren’t too bad but getting across the front porch and down the driveway are the challenges.

So I dug in and did a lot of things around the house I’d been putting off—including the first yoga I’ve done in seven weeks, since I broke that bone in my foot. I suppose that was part laziness because I could have done some poses with the orthopedic shoes. I regretted my folly this morning because my regular routine wore me out, some places didn’t bend like they should, some poses were downright difficult. It was fun to do in my sunroom with windows all around so I could watch the snow. But it’s also difficult to do yoga in full sweats—and too cold in that window room to take off the heavy clothes.

A flurry of excitement around noon—false rumor that Jacob would get out of school at noon. True time was 2:25 but his grandparents, who were to come get him, decided against it—for good reason (they live 30-45 minutes away). Jordan decreed I was not to leave the house, a decree I willingly obeyed, so she commandeered someone from her office with four-wheel drive to bring her to the school. Tomorrow is still up in the air—no school, so I imagine I’ll get him early in the morning. I have tentatively cancelled my plans for tomorrow but will try to go to the grocery in the late afternoon. High today of 22 isn’t going to melt anything—but 37 tomorrow and 61 Saturday.

I thought often today of my childhood in Chicago with deep snow, sledding, ice skating, and not letting a bit of ice and snow stop our world. I don’t remember school ever being cancelled but I suppose it probably was.  And then I spent several years in northern Missouri where the roads iced into ruts into which my VW didn’t fit. I remember looking out the window and thinking if I could just wake up one morning and not see dirty gray snow. We lived in a small town where people still used coal, and the snow got really nasty. But I was younger then and less fearful of falling.

In Fort Worth, the world is cancelled for an inch of snow. My church closed, as did several others. National TV programming was pre-empted all morning by “storm” coverage, and the highways were blocked by long lines and wrecked cars. The national news even mentioned the mess in Texas over not that much snow. No thaw tonight, but the streets look pretty good.

I spent much of the morning thinking of the errands and outdoor chores I’d have done yesterday if I’d taken seriously the mention of a possible dusting of light snow. This is more than a dusting, but at least it won’t melt and refreeze overnight. And I won’t whine and complain when I watch news clips from the northeast. Now if I can just get down the driveway tomorrow!

Race relations--and my personal education

In the venomous hate for President Obama that circulates on Facebook, at protests, etc. innuendoes and outward expressions of racial hatred are too often clear. I can't remember now what comment it was that sent me reeling back in time to examine my own education in race relations. I was raised in a liberal household where no hint of prejudice would have been tolerated, but I also grew up in Kenwood, a South Side Chicago neighborhood that by the '50s was ringed with poorer black neighborhoods. I was afraid. Yes, I'd been coddled by black nannies (one of whom proudly told my mother one morning that I'd eaten four eggs for breakfast!) but I heard at an early age that black men did bad things. This was reinforced by an aunt who lived two doors away and once, looking out the window to see a black man walking peacefully down the street, said to me, "Look how evil he looks!" (This is the same aunt who washed tomatoes with soap and water before peeling them, but I loved her.)
Al Knowlton was the first black man I really knew. He was a painter at the hospital where my father was administrator. Al came on Saturdays and some evenings to do the chores that my did couldn't or didn't want to do (Dad spent his weekends gardening and wasn't a particularly good handyman). Saturdays were a highlight for both of them--Mom would serve them lunch at the kitchen table, and they'd talk about the hospital and Al's days as a waiter on the trains (when trains had uniformed waiters and linen and fine china as well as fine food), and I remember they both enjoyed the visits. Al always called Dad "Dr. Mac."
Two incidents stand out in my mind. One night, when I was maybe eight or thereabouts, I was flitting about the house in my nightgown until my mother told me it wasn't fitting to be in my nightgown around a man who was not family. Period. No mention of race, but I made a subtle connection.
Another time Al surprised me somewhere in the house, and I cried "Oh, Al, I thought you were the bogey man." I got a severe lecture for that: black people, my mom explained, were particularly sensitive to being called the bogey man.
Of course there as the time Mom went to the hospital to pick Al up, having thrown on an old coat. She asked the switchboard operator to call him, and the operator asked, "Should I tell him his wife is waiting?" Even Al got a kick out of that one.
When my dad retired there was the usual hoopla, dinner, etc., and in all the pictures, Al was quite prominent, wearing the only suit I ever saw him in along with a broad grin. Theirs was truly a great friendship...and a lesson for me.

Old friends are gold

I can't leave Hawaii behind on the blog without a tip of the hat to the people who lured us to the islands, Martha and Dick Andersen. Fifty years ago last fall Martha and I were English majors together at Truman State University in Kirkville, Missouri, she an undergraduate and me working on a Masters. We had a big something in common--her father was the the president of the osteopathic college in Kirksville; mine was president of the one in Chicago. I don't think it was that that drew us together so much as an affinity for each other. Martha would marry that December, and I married the next year. The four of us did a lot together, creating some fond memories. Over the years and through crises in both families, we've kept in touch. They've come to Texas four times at least, and when my children were young we all went to Omaha to see them. When they lived in Singapore, they urged me to come visit but I wasn't quite brave enough to make the long and complicated trip alone. One year on a visit to Texas, they took me to Santa Fe--wonderful experience. It's truly golden to have friends who remain close and caring after all those years, and I feel blessed by their continuing friendship and support. They are one of the most comfortable couples I know...I don't think I can pay them a greater compliment.
And they've welcomed Jordan heartily. We had great visits on the lanai, fun fixing suppers (and the perfect martini), and sightseeing on Kauai. Because of them, I have an experience I will always treasure.

Sunset above the clouds as we headed home

As wonderful as our trip had been, we were ready to come home, and it's good to be back. Now I'm trying to get in the groove of work. I have books to write, lunches to share with friends, books to read, a lot to do. And it's all good.