Snow Days and Widow Wishes

Years ago when my husband had a commercial snow removal business he called snowflakes pennies from heaven. If that were actually true I’d have a million dollars stacked up in my yard, on my deck and straining my roof. It’s well over two foot deep in areas that haven’t been touched by a shovel, even deeper in the drifts. We haven’t had a plow come down my street in almost a week and they say it will be a few more days before the city gets to all the side streets. The list of cancellations keeps crawling across my TV screen and it looks like the entire city is staying home with me. Even my hair salon called to cancel about two minutes before I was going to call them to do the same. Needless to say, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

The first day of our snow storm, a couple from down the street who I’ve never met before rang my doorbell. They were on the way to the grocery store and wanted to know if I needed anything. They said they hadn’t seen any activity around my house in recent days and wanted to make sure I was alright. After I thanked them for stopping and assured them that it was just a bad cold keeping me inside, they handed me a piece of paper with their phone numbers on it. They’d also been down to my mailbox and handed me several days’ worth of mail and newspapers. As they left, I couldn’t help tearing up---tears of both gratitude and sadness. I’m grateful that people do notice and keep track of me, even if I’m not aware of them doing it. Since Don passed away there have been many times when I’ve thought that I could be died for weeks before anyone would miss me.

But the neighbors stopping made me sad as well as grateful because it signals that I’m now officially old enough that others feel the need to look out for me, the elderly woman living alone on the block. It doesn’t seem like all that many years ago that Don and I were the ones looking out for the elderly people living nearby. I used to have a clock that had an inscription on its face that read: “The seeds of today are the flowers of tomorrow.” I guess those seeds we planted in the universe so many years ago when Don and I would rake leaves or shovel snow for elderly neighbors have bloomed and it’s time to tend my garden. Next summer, I decided, I need to spend more time on my front patio instead of my back deck. I need to walk the dog on my block more often instead of always going to the nature trail. I need to get to know my neighbors better. I can’t get any younger and someday a kind neighbor keeping track of me from afar could save my life.

When I was a kid snow days meant we’d get to put on our snowsuits and built snow forts in the yard or go sledding or ice skating. As teenagers my brother and I went tobogganing, ice skating and even ice fishing. In my twenties I took up downhill skiing---mostly for the social life at the lodges--and snowmobiling. When I first met Don in my late twenties he bought a snowmobile so we didn’t have to keep borrowing one from my folks. We even tried cross-country skiing. I loved, loved, loved snowmobiling especially at night when we’d go on the groomed trails through the woods around Michigan. Along the trails were places we could stop for chili, hot chocolate, etc., and we often traveled in groups of five to ten snowmobiles. Sometimes we'd turn our machines off at the top of high hill and just enjoy the tranquility and beauty of the moonlit, snowy meadow while drinking coffee from a steaming thermos.

A snowstorm, in the past, meant fun was coming close on its heels. But as Don’s snow removal business grew we could no longer burn the candle at both ends by playing and working in the snow with no time to sleep in between. Everything has its season and my season of snow related fun is now limited to good memories and maybe a horse-drawn carriage ride at the sculpture garden should I find someone to go with me. But I’ll admit that when I was at the L.L.Bean website this week and I saw some adult snow pants, for a fleeting moment I thought about buying them so I can revert back to building stuff in the snow. There are some amazing snow sculptors out there and wouldn’t it be fun to be one of them? Wouldn't that give the neighbors something to talk about! The crazy, old widow who wishes she could be a kid again. ©

* The photo above is of me, my brother and his friend, taken in 1952.