In South Carolina this week the snow fell up to our shoetops. That’s counting our high-top sneakers and the weather-proof hiking boots we bought to wear wading in the puddles last spring.
Rare occurrences such as snow that doesn’t melt on impact or a decent bullpen for the Braves make the news in the South. We don’t interrupt Wheel of Fortune every time a tornado sucks up a trailer, but in a section of the country where people remember snowfalls by how many children they had at the time, that means only one thing.
Everybody stops to take part in the miracle.
The miracle of how to keep feet dry that skip out to play in the snow 72 times in one day with changes of gear in between. (Turns out kids’ tootsies need extra looking after as well as Captains and dogs.)
The miracle of the Replenishing Cup of Hot Chocolate. No matter how many sets of cold fingers come through the back door, there is always a steaming cup of hot chocolate for them to wrap around.
The miracle of the birds and the. . .other birds. At the Mullis birdfeeder buffet, the larger birds sling enough food off their plates that the smaller birds on the ground have plenty to eat. On Wednesdays chickadees eat free.
The miracle of how to keep the dogs from eating the snowman’s eyes. Although the snowman at our house boasts walnuts for eyes, rendering him slightly nearsighted and unable to react quickly to danger, this has not been an impossible miracle to experience. Dalmador Labmations like to lick walnuts, not eat them. This also results in an admirably smooth complexion for the snowman.
The miracle of finding the Dachshund in the snow drift before she becomes an ice statue. This miracle is documented on digital media, although the expression on the Dachshund’s face does not lend to flashing such evidence around as if it were clever baby pictures.
The miracle of an entire county buying enough bread to keep America’s Breadbasket in business. I am two peanut butter sandwiches away from financing secondary education for every person in Kansas.
And the miracle of how to make one roll of toilet paper last a week. (Even though I personally witnessed a Wal-Mart shopper hurrying toward the register with a 72 pack. I don’t know what other provisions he stocked, but I do NOT want to be snowed in at his house.)
In a few days, the snow will fade away and our lives will be filled once again with red mud and kudzu. Until then, we believe in miracles.
And even after. Because the Dachshund will never let us forget.
Rare occurrences such as snow that doesn’t melt on impact or a decent bullpen for the Braves make the news in the South. We don’t interrupt Wheel of Fortune every time a tornado sucks up a trailer, but in a section of the country where people remember snowfalls by how many children they had at the time, that means only one thing.
Everybody stops to take part in the miracle.
The miracle of how to keep feet dry that skip out to play in the snow 72 times in one day with changes of gear in between. (Turns out kids’ tootsies need extra looking after as well as Captains and dogs.)
The miracle of the Replenishing Cup of Hot Chocolate. No matter how many sets of cold fingers come through the back door, there is always a steaming cup of hot chocolate for them to wrap around.
The miracle of the birds and the. . .other birds. At the Mullis birdfeeder buffet, the larger birds sling enough food off their plates that the smaller birds on the ground have plenty to eat. On Wednesdays chickadees eat free.
The miracle of how to keep the dogs from eating the snowman’s eyes. Although the snowman at our house boasts walnuts for eyes, rendering him slightly nearsighted and unable to react quickly to danger, this has not been an impossible miracle to experience. Dalmador Labmations like to lick walnuts, not eat them. This also results in an admirably smooth complexion for the snowman.
The miracle of finding the Dachshund in the snow drift before she becomes an ice statue. This miracle is documented on digital media, although the expression on the Dachshund’s face does not lend to flashing such evidence around as if it were clever baby pictures.
The miracle of an entire county buying enough bread to keep America’s Breadbasket in business. I am two peanut butter sandwiches away from financing secondary education for every person in Kansas.
And the miracle of how to make one roll of toilet paper last a week. (Even though I personally witnessed a Wal-Mart shopper hurrying toward the register with a 72 pack. I don’t know what other provisions he stocked, but I do NOT want to be snowed in at his house.)
In a few days, the snow will fade away and our lives will be filled once again with red mud and kudzu. Until then, we believe in miracles.
And even after. Because the Dachshund will never let us forget.
