Holiday Snow Stories (alternate title: I Was a Dumb Kid)

It seems only appropriate that I post a photo of myself. This was taken several years ago on Christmas Eve. I was a miserable graduate student who couldn't afford the plane ticket home for the holidays (or the time away from the computer). My good friend Kara was in the same situation, so we went out for a wonderful meal at the local Indian restaurant. It snowed really hard that night and we almost didn't make it home from dinner because there was so much snow in the parking lot . . .

Other holiday snow memories: when my brother was a few months old my family was driving to visit my grandparents. They lived on a farm that can only be reached via a dirt road about three miles off the main highway; their closest neighbor (at that time) was about two miles away). As we rode along the weather started getting kind of crappy; once we finally turned on to the dirt road that led to the farm, the weather was absolutely foul. A trip that normally takes seven minutes (I've timed it), took three times that, until finally our hunk of junk car became stuck in the snow a little more than a quarter mile from thier house. My dad decided to just run down the hill and get my grandparents. Did I mention that it was snowing? Hard? Well, the usual five minute jog turned out to be a lot longer since it was (1) freezing, (2) dark, and (3) in the middle of a blizzard. It took him probably half an hour to get to the house and it took our rescuers another ten or so minutes to get one of the cars started and up the hill to save us.

Holiday snow memory #2: When I was in the second grade, my dad took a job in Wyoming. After we had lived there a little while, my mom and dad discovered skiing and liked it very much. They decided that the best was to share their new hobby with me was to buy me a pair of plastic skis for Christmas. I was SO excited when I opened them up and figured out what the two long planks and two spiky sticks were! I demanded that we postpone the rest of the opening of presents so that I could try out this new sport--something I was sure I would master in a very short period of time. So, my mom got me all bundled up and my dad walked outside with me and helped me get the skis on. There was a good bit of snow on the ground and it was frigid outside. After my dad explained the basics of skiing to me, I sent him away as I was sure I did not need any further assistance. So after about two minutes of cross country skiing, I decided that cross country skiing sucked; it was far too slow and far too much exercise. So, I made my way to the back yard, where there was a very steep hill. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pushed off. I soared down the hill and straight into the fence that ran between the area that we lived in and the next subdivision. To say the very least, I was disappointed in skiing as a whole. I decided, after experimenting with both cross country and down-hill that I would never ski again. With that, I turned to climb back up the hill. But I couldn't move. I tried again, but was still unable to propel myself up the hill. It was clear to me at that point that I was going to die. I started to cry, knowing that not only would I never see my parents again, but that I wouldn't even get to open the rest of my presents. After three minutes of crying, I started to yell for help. I was convinced that this was a waste of time as the wind was very loud and my voice was very soft, but after what I assumed was fourteen hours, I was rescued by my father. He laughed the whole way back up the hill, while I continued to cry, sure I was going to have limbs amputated because of the cold. Note: It turns out I was only stuck at the bottom of the hill for five minutes and I did not, in fact, loose any limbs. I think I used the skis one time after that.

Holiday snow memory #3: I started kindergarten in 1979. It was a rough winter (as so many in the Midwest were and continue to be) and on the last day of school before winter break, a blizzard hit. The fine educators and administrators at Helena Elementary were ready for it though. They decided to close the school and send us all home early. So, I got all bundled up and started to walk the short way home in the cold. The cold got colder, with the wind howling and snow starting to fall. Long story short: I walked home from school in a blizzard. My face was all red from the cold and I was mad as hell when I finally made it home. Only my mom was there when I finally arrived; my dad was at the school waiting for me so he could drive me home.