TheBanyanTree: Snow

[Sally Larwood]

The staring thing works with kids too.  I always wake, even from a deep sleep, when any of our kids stand by the bed.  Like Ash, it's my side of the bed they stand by.  The funny thing is, with my youngest coming up to her 33rd birthday, when Alison came into our bedroom and stood by the bed recently, I woke up immediately.  Conditioning they call it, and they're right.

Sal

Sent from my iPad

On 02/03/2012, at 1:09 AM, Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com> wrote:

> At 5:15 am Ash told me he needed to go outside. At least he waited until
> 5:15.
> 
> Two nights ago he told me he needed to go outside at 2 am. He tells me this
> by standing at my side of the bed and staring at me. And as if by magic, my
> eyes pop open. I was coming out of the deepest stage of sleep, also known
> as the coma, so I asked Andrew, who never wakes up when he's stared at, to
> take Ash out for me.
> 
> Andrew said, quite clearly, "Sure," then rolled over and went back to
> sleep.
> 
> Hmph. I gave in to Ash's request, and the two of us trudged downstairs,
> though mostly I was trudging while Ash was blithely running down the
> stairs. When he came back inside he insisted on cleaning up Honey's
> leftover dinner, foraging for the bits of food she may have left at her
> bowl. This was particularly odd since his food bowl was almost full, but he
> had no interest in it. Everyone knows the older dog gets the best food.
> 
> Usually when I ask Andrew to get up and take the dog out he complies quite
> nicely, but usually I do it since I am, after all, awake. I'm awake because
> the damn dog is staring at me with his laser guided doggie stare. Why have
> two people awake when one is sufficient for the task?
> 
> But I digress, as usual.
> 
> For days we've been hearing that light snow is in the forecast, and each
> day it rains. We're not much into snow, here in the PNW, so the idea of it
> is so unexpected that we obsess over it. Mostly we hope it doesn't come to
> that, though some of us don't mind so much. By some of us, I mean me, of
> course, because it's not as if I have to even leave my house. In fact, this
> week I'm not leaving the house. There's too much work to be done, and all
> of it must be done at my desk, all day.
> 
> So at 5:15 Ash and I trudged downstairs, he skipping blithely, to discover
> actual snow on the ground. I know it was snow because it is white, and wet,
> and it's still falling. I may have been half asleep, but I'm not totally
> out of it.
> 
> I grew up in California, where we had snow only in the mountains, which we
> visited once a year for two days. After I left home at 18 my parents, in a
> misguided attempt to lose me, moved to the mountains and only mentioned it
> to me after the fact, when I was in Europe, as if to say, "Hah! Look at us!
> We moved and you've no place to return to!"
> 
> Not that I would return. Does a condemned man, let out of death row for a
> holiday, willingly return? Not likely.
> 
> Anyway, I was in Germany, and had plenty of my own snow to contend with.
> 
> I've never grown tired of it, though I've done my share of shoveling in the
> midwest years, those years when I could count on a blanket of the stuff to
> impede my daily progress in the winter months. I couldn't stay at home to
> earn money then, not like now, so I learned how to drive in it, shovel it,
> manage it, and even walk in it. And still, every year I found it a wonder.
> 
> Andrew grew up shoveling snow, since he's from Anchorage, which seems to
> get its share of the stuff, and he doesn't miss it. "You don't have to
> shovel rain," he tells me, which is quite true. But rain is just . . . wet.
> Snow is wet and not, at the same time. I'm fairly certain that if I had to
> be out and about I would not enjoy the snow as much. I remember driving in
> blizzards, alone, in North Dakota, to get from one half of the state to the
> other, which means much driving in nothingness. I remember shoveling my car
> out every morning and shoveling it back in every night when I was on my own
> in Wisconsin. I remember how in North Dakota I had to back my little Civic
> up on the little road in front of our house. The house was up on a hill,
> with a steep driveway, and when the snow was heavy and I was coming home I
> would back the Civic up down the street so I'd be facing the driveway, and
> then I'd gun it for all it was worth, and if I was good enough, the car
> would make it to the top of the drive. We often had to leave the truck at
> the bottom and walk up, but I could usually get my Civic up.
> 
> But I don't have to do any of that anymore. And the amount of snow we get
> is so small that it's not as if I'd have to do any of that anyway. This
> snow may be gone by the time I wake up again. But just maybe it'll stay for
> a few hours.
> 
> A girl can dream.
> 
> Speaking of which, I'm going back to bed now.
> 
> M