I am waiting out the approach of our first snowstorm of the winter…except it’s not winter yet! I despise winter and for the second year in a row, winter is here early. Mother Nature…what did I ever do to you?
Our local weather prognosticators have predicted anywhere from a dusting below us to an accumulation of twenty inches above us; possible rain, snow, sleet or freezing rain…all the previous possible or none of the previous Imma thinkin’ or hoping. In the foothills of the Blue Ridge, we are bracing for six to eight inches…of something. A “Snowpocalypse” by Southern standards. I’m just going to sit here and wait until it is over and melted. Just let the meteorologist tell me how much we got. Since retiring from teaching, snow has offered no rewards for me.
The impending “Snowmageddon” has claimed its first victim…me. I’m sitting not because snow is falling, it isn’t yet…wait was that a wet snowflake or a big, slow raindrop? I’m sitting because I hyperextended my knee while cutting and splitting “emergency” wood in preparation for the attack by “Snowzilla.” If the monster is successful with its evil-minded plan, I will at least have wood to burn should the power go out. I’m okay, just feeling clumsy and stiff. Thanks for askin’.
The injured knee was once called my good knee and I guess there is no particular advantage to having one good knee as opposed to having two bad ones…. I do have to flip a coin to decide which knee I should limp on and I’d just “ah soon” not to lose power by the way. I don’t want to limp out and bring in wood to feed my fireplace.
I went grocery shopping yesterday morning before the slip with an eighteen-inch diameter log and screw up your knee event. A stop by at Wally World is a normal activity for a Friday morning…right after my two-hour walk and coffee with a best friend, “Hawk.”
As I approached the bread area, I found bare shelves and the aisle deserted. I expected to see customers locked in an epic battle over a loaf of French bread or such. Maybe two ordinarily sane mothers pulling at each other’s hair, fighting for the last loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread.
The fresh Italian bread I usually buy, gone. So was yesterday’s Italian bread and all other bread. Same was true with the milk shelves…and eggs it seems…bare. The milk and eggs were, to quote John Hiatt:
“Gone like a Nixon file
Gone like my landlord smile
Gone like the furniture
Gone like the rest of her”
There may be no French toast in my future.
I really don’t understand the rush for milk and bread. I always wondered if there was a conspiracy between the weather services, bakers and the dairy industry. Payoffs slipped under the table to just mention the possibility of snow. If I were going to stockpile for the blizzard of the century it would include bourbon and barbeque…not bread and milk.
It is not just a “Southern Thang” I found out. Those odd cultures above the Mason-Dixon line also rush out and sweep the bread and milk shelves clean. Who knew? It’s wasn’t even begun by Southerners…I believe they lie.
I am ready. Bring your best Snow Monster. Books to read if the satellite goes out. Wood to burn if the power goes and batteries for the flashlights and lanterns. Most importantly, Jack Daniels in the pantry and pulled pork barbeque in the fridge…. Okay, I did find a loaf of day-old French bread and a dozen extra-large eggs. My bride boiled up a half-dozen but kept six for French toast. Like a true country boy, I will survive.
Don Miller’s author’s page can be found at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM
Lyrics from John Hiatt’s song “Gone”.
Snow image was liberated from https://marcusashley.com/artwork/elm-tree-blizzard