January 6: Snow

Winter has finally arrived to central Iowa. We all wished for a white Christmas, and now find ourselves with a white January instead. I am not overly enchanted.

Around 6" fell in our area. Temps are frigid. Aria awoke certain there would be no school. 

There was school.

The monsters.

She has proclaimed Des Moines Public Schools to be heartless. I'm somewhat apt to agree. The logic of getting out of school on time at the end of the year was lost to Aria this morning. Ever try to reason with emotions and they just won't be calmed? 

Yes, I know better than to try to reason with emotions. I gave her chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast instead.

I was remembering being little and the joy of snow days. We lived on a block with a church on the corner, then our home (the parsonage) and then next door was a little old lady named Evelyn.

Whenever it snowed growing up (and am I imagining things, or did it snow a whole lot more when I was growing up??) I had to shovel the church, the parsonage and Evelyn's sidewalks. 

For little legs, it seemed like I was shoveling the state of Alaska. 

I was not a Northface poster child in my youth. I was a poor little girl in a tiny town with boots that didn't keep out the wet or cold, no snow pants in sight (wet jeans - remember that sensation from your youth??) and sopping, cold mittens. Winter wasn't fancy or sporty. It was cold.

I used to complain and grumble over all that shoveling. But I always hid that turbulence from Evelyn and gave her my best smile. Sometimes she gave me a quarter. Sometimes a dollar. Sometimes nothing. I always gave her that smile.

Our worlds are so little when we are young. I don't remember anyone ever visiting Evelyn. I don't remember her ever getting out of the house. She will always be, in my memories, a lady in a door saying thanks for a service with a sometimes token of appreciation in hand. 

I wish I'd given a hug rather than a smile. I suspect she didn't get enough hugs in life.

Jason Isbell - Cover Me Up