Broken clouds
Broken clouds
28.4 °F
December 08, 2016
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‘Oh, the weather outside is frightful!’

The first winter snow storm can be magical & sparkly...
TRR photos by Jonathan Fox

Considering the events (or lack thereof) over the last few days, I can’t be the only one with those lyrics in mind. As a child, winter storms meant hot chocolate, waxing up the “Flying Saucer” and mom insisting on snow pants (always a good fashion statement) before we headed out the door, shrieking with glee (insert sigh here.)

These days, when the flurries turn to inches (or feet) my reaction is somewhat different. Oh sure, the first real snow is magical. A gorgeous blanket silently sweeps over the Upper Delaware Valley and everything slows down for a bit. Putting on the gloves, coat, hat and scarf isn’t an inconvenience (yet) and the dog’s excitement is infectious, causing me to laugh and take pictures of the pup’s enthusiasm, as I delight in her exuberance and admire the sparkly wonder that will soon be frozen ice balls embedded in her fur. Sigh.

After a few hours, the magic wears off a bit (IMHO), as I take her out a few more times and eye the shovel with contempt. With two wet coats on the hook and no “delightful fire,” I throw my hands into the air and quietly mumble, whilst drying Dharma for the third time that day. “And since we’ve no place to go,” I grouse, “let it snow, let it snow, blah blah blah.” Not that we country folk let a little white stuff deter us. Still in the holiday spirit, I observed kids dragging their sleds up the (considerable) hill behind Green Acres and grinned-for a brief, shining moment, just before a plow came by (thank you) and threw a mountain of the stuff at the entrance to my garage/barn. “Thank you!” I scream into the howling wind, as the plow disappears, making someone else’s day just down the road a piece. With just the one finger poised to salute, I think better of it and form the peace sign, in case the driver is glancing in the rearview.

Since it didn’t “show any signs of stopping” and I heard my joints a popping, I slumped into a chair and picked up my New Year’s resolutions list from 2012 to check off all of my wonderful accomplishments over the last 12 months. Sigh. “If at first you don’t succeed,” I wheezed, taking note that all but one on the list were still in need of resolve. Oh sure, last January was fraught with problems and most of those are (thankfully) behind me, but still... Time to put on my big boy (snow) pants, I suppose, and wipe the slate clean. Scribbling away, I scratched out a new list, keeping some old, adding some new and reminiscing about the good old days (I mean last week).

Unwilling (unable?) to remember much of what had transpired in 2012, I let my mind wander to the last few hours, and recalled that I had run into some interesting folks before the storm hit. Sullivan West ( students Raina Bowers and Jessica Ellsworth were in Callicoon ( last Saturday, displaying what they described as “Abandoned Art,” which piqued my interest. “All of these pieces were left behind by students,” Bowers explained, “and our teacher, Mr. Layman, had this idea. I just took the ball and ran with it.” Drawings, paintings, sketches and the like were spread on a table and the “suggested donations” collected support the Parent Teacher Student Organization (PTSO) at the school. “We don’t have a website for the project yet,” Raina said, “but hope to soon,” so I will be sure to follow up on their worthwhile endeavor.

Hearing live music, I turned my attention to another duo-in the form of “Campfire” Jones and Drew Kelly, who were also in the place, entertaining the art lovers with their bluegrass pickin’ and winning smiles.

Handing me their card, (570/877-3085) the boys informed me that they will be “opening up the New Year’s eve party at Mel’s ( in Greeley, PA” and suggested that I check it out. Right. New Year’s. Sigh. Turning their card over in my hand, reverie shaken (not stirred), I surveyed the landscape and shook my head. Momentarily present, I buttoned up the overcoat and grabbed Dharma’s leash. “When we finally kiss goodnight,” I whimpered, “I’ll hate going out in the storm.” She cocked her head and scampered off before hearing my final, pathetic (yet lyrical) proclamation: “But if you’ll hold me really tight,” I sighed, “all the way home, I’ll be warm.”