I believe that the whole thing started with Teri and her squirrels. All during the late summer and early fall, Teri kept reporting on the acorn situation at home. To be more accurate, she kept telling us that there were no acorns lying around on the ground. She then went on to say that the old Indians knew that if there were few acorns, it meant there would be a very light winter. Everyone at work was quite happy and hopeful at the thoughts of an easy time ahead. I just kept thinking to myself: what old Indians and where did she meet them?
Sorry Teri, either your info or your observations are faulty since we have had non-stop snow now for 2 months. I have gotten stuck in the parking lot at the high school, I have helped dig and push Teri out of the gutter, and I have spent a harrowing trip down the mountain in a blizzard carrying 4 boys and their skis. Last Wednesday was the worst storm in many years. We had 22 inches in my front yard in 1 day, and we are still recuperating from it. Christian made me turn on the radio because he was sure it would be a snow day. Unfortunately, it was not. For some mysterious reason, the snowplows of Ogden seem to be out in full force only on light snow days, because on Wednesday, there were none to be found. Due to our stalwart, pioneer spirits, we all struggled into work where we stood at the window for 6 hours and watched the snow accumulate. We also spent a lot of time watching Teri shovel the front walk. No, I really did help her. By 4 o'clock, we closed up and left, whereupon we each--except for Lynnette--got stuck in the parking lot. Luckily for us--unluckily for him--Ray, the printer, had stopped by and had to dig and push us each out. Ugh!!!
The old Indians who work in the back are sending Teri an almanac update: If there are no acorns on the ground, it is because the squirrels have gathered them all up to prepare for a very long winter to come. Our world looks like a massive white wilderness with tunnels going all over. We have drifts 6 feet high on each side of the driveway, a tunnel across the white lawn for Vern, the postman, and even a tunnel for Lindbergh, and I am only hoping the Vern doesn't try to use the dog's tunnel.
After 5 days of slip-sliding up my street at home, the plows finally did my road yesterday morning. When I ran out to go to church--late as always--the edge of my driveway was filled waist-high with ice boulders. And it was still snowing.
As I walked across our ice-rink parking lot this morning terrified of falling, I felt like I was 6 again and playing my favorite childhood game: Mother, may I take 175 baby steps to get to the sidewalk. Once at work, I heard Lynnette mention to Sue how beautiful the sun on the mountains was, and I had to think about that. How true. I have spent days looking down--shoveling, scraping, slipping, stressing, and what I should have been doing is taking a moment to look up and witness the beauty of those sunlit, snow-covered mountains all around me. So that is my mantra for this week: Look up.
The one great thing about a snowy winter is all of the cozy opportunities it creates for staying in and stitching. Teri has rearranged much of the shop and I spent Saturday looking at many fun, new projects. Sam-Sarah's monthly baubles are adorable. We have just finished January and February and they are very sweet with their fun colours and buttons. And of course she has found the most darling snowmen ever. Some of us here at the shop are getting ready to work on Quaker Christmas, and I happily pulled fabrics and threads like I might actually do it. Hope does spring eternal. Gosh, my moments at the computer have gone by so quickly. It is almost time for the swim team to get out of practice, and if I am late Christian's hair will be frozen. I wish you all a lovely week with feet on firm ground. And remember, if you find yourself overcome by the January blues--look up--you might just find the sun.