Old King Cole, one of the many snowmen my Dad built back in the snow days of our childhood.

It’s snowing today, just a little really but it’s cold here in the foothills of the Boston Mountains and I say, bring on the snow.

I can’t say we’ve had much of the white stuff in recent years, much to my regret. Our father made snow so much fun when we were kids that I have always loved cold weather and have looked forward to even the hint of snow.

Luckily, we’ve lived in a lot of snowy places but in recent years since my husband has retired it’s been like living in the Sahara Desert when it comes to snow.

My mother could always tell when snow was coming by watching the birds. She could spot the snow birds. For some reason the weather men can’t seem to do that. There was no hint of snow in the weather forecast last night.

Our weather man has taken to blogging.

I keep forgetting to check out the link but I should because it tells me more than the actual weather page, which should tell us something about the effectiveness of blogging….

I remember noticing something the other day about the world entering a global ice age, that global warming is passé which is why the environmental wackos have been changing their lingo of late to “climate change”.

It’s all a cycle. There was a lot of snow in the fifties and sixties here. It slacked off in the past twenty years. I’m ready for some snow but not ice.

I am writing under the influence of being under the weather today so this is all a stream of consciousness.

Last night I felt like I was being hit over the side of the head. I couldn’t sleep. All night long I was awake. That’s me though. When I do sleep it’s good. When I don’t it’s up all night for me. Notasleep. I am on twitter now and that’s my handle. Then for an hour I did go to sleep. When I awakened I looked out the window and there were all these little white things falling down from the sky. I hadn’t seen them for so long I had a hard time identifying them until I turned on the coffee maker.

There was white on top of the car, on the yard, on the porch. It was fun looking out of the window and seeing so much white.



Coffee helps to clarify the mind and therefore the fingertips on the keyboard.


Daddy kept up his snowman-making-skills after I grew up and married. He sent me this photo of Elvis, the snowman when we were stationed overseas in Germany. He made this snowman in honor of Elvis Presley after his death in 1977. That winter was a cold one in this part of Arkansas.

He wrote on the back of the photo that he worked some more on the snowman after he took the picture and it looked better. Ever the perfectionist.

If you scroll back up to the top picture and look at Old King Cole, the snowman, take a look at the background and you will see the kingdom of our childhood, where my brother, Bobby ruled supreme. He was always the Captain and our neighbor, Mark was his right hand man. Tommy Across the Street was the Sgt. Lucy was the tattle tale and I was probably one too. Lucy and I did our own thing except when the boys took to building forts.

We always got in on that. When there were wars we liked to play too. Lucy and I liked to be the Indians and would go to the moss kingdom and look for arrowheads. There was a stream that ran through the woods and at the back of the woods it got wider and we liked to jump over it. We would jump and jump and purposely get sloppy so we would slip and fall in the middle and make a splash. A big white sycamore tree hung over the stream and it had lots of hanging vines we liked to catch hold of to swing across. Behind our woods was a large pasture which belonged to a neighbor. They had a large pond on their property. On a very rare ocassion we would slip through the fence and go over to the pond to try to skip some rocks.

But we had enough magic going on in our own woods.

Especially when it snowed. Our own horse, Scout got in on the action. He loved it when it snowed. Note the little shed in the background of the photo. That was his shelter. It was open in front so it didn’t keep him very warm. Quite often when Daddy closed the gate in the front yard giving Scout the run of the yard our intrepid horse would manage to get into the garage which is where we kept the feed and the hay. One time he trampled Daddy’s box of Al Jolson records.

One winter when it was so bitter cold that the temperature dipped into minus degrees my mother was so worried about Scout that she took one of my maternal grandfather’s old wool coats out to the shed and put it on Scout’s back. He wore it until it warmed up.

But Scout loved the snow. When it snowed he would roll around in it making his own kind of horse snow angels. He was just like all of us kids when it came to snow and rain.

But now the day is over. I just looked out the window and the snow stopped long ago and is no more. It’s cold still and will be extremely cold tonight.

Still no snow.