Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion- On Snow

Dear Friends,

       I woke up on my day off and as I turned on the TV, I heard the weather report; “The temperature is in the single digits with a wind chill putting it at 8 below, the high today will be 24 degrees, snow will be moving in by the rush hour.” I got up and dressed and my wife and I had our morning coffee together. Again, the TV was on, and the news was COVID and the sabers of war rattling. As I sipped my coffee my mind began to drift and suddenly, I was a young boy again, in my pajamas, sitting on the living room floor on a Saturday morning watching Saturday morning TV, kids TV, Popeye cartoons, the Lone Ranger, Gene London, the Three Stooges, and Luney Toon Cartoons a bowl of fried puffed rice in my lap that I ate with my fingers waiting for the snow to fall.

       Oh, the anticipation of snowball fights, sledding, building snowmen and snow forts, winter at its best. The streets were snow covered a foot deep but, that did not stop the fathers in the neighborhood from getting around, tire chains went on the night before. A large bag of rock salt sat on the porch next to the snow shovel (actually the old coal shovel from the basement) the walks would be cleared as soon as the snow stopped falling. Stores were open, if it was a school day the schools would be open and we would be walking to school, but its Saturday and the school is closed but we will still walk to school, to the playground, to go sledding. As the sun began to set, we would walk home, tired, wet, cold, and laughing. Once home our wet clothes came off and were put on and around the radiator to dry, we would get ready for dinner in the warmth of home. The smell of dinner on the stove, on a day like this, grilled cheese and nice hot tomato soup. After dinner it was bath time, back in our pajamas and a mug of hot chocolate (Ovaltine) as we played on the living room floor while mom and dad watched their shows; Jack Benny, Red Skelton, Milton Berle, later as we lay in bed, they would watch Perry Mason.

     Suddenly my reverie is interrupted by my wife asking me what I want for dinner, suggesting “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup with hot chocolate.” I swear she can read my mind; I tell her it sounds great to me as I

wander out into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of fried puffed rice. I’ll sit and eat it as I call the young man next door to check that he will be shoveling our walks.