Well, I make almost every moment maudlin anyway.
This week, on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, we had a pretty good snowstorm here at Nogglestead. Initial predictions were for 1 to 12 inches of snow, depending upon when the temperature dropped below freezing. Eventually, we got about four inches of wet, packable snow here.
A couple miles to the south of us and all along the Highway 60 corridor, the route I take to Poplar Bluff to see my brother, they got a foot of snow and have been out of school all week. As is happened, my boys only got one day off of school, although the school had prepared them to be off the rest of the week.
As the temperature had flirted with the freezing point, it was good, warm, packable snow. We rarely get measurable snowfall here–once or twice a year most years–and it tends to be of the colder, finer-flaked variety.
So I knew this might be my last chance to have a snowball fight with my boys.
I mean, I’ve had a couple of snowball fights with my children over the years. Intermittently, and probably not every year, as we have had years with little snow indeed.
I don’t remember having a snowball fight with my father, but we must have tossed a couple of snowballs each others’ way once, ainna? The late 1970s were pretty snowy in Wisconsin, but although I remember epic snow forts built on either side of the sidewalk leading to our apartment in the projects and a snowball fight between us and the kids from the next apartment, I don’t really remember much about my father from that era. He was working, drinking and philandering, or hunting most of the time. So the boys will remember me better, I hope.
As they’re teenagers now, the last times are becoming more prevalent (and my anticipation that this is the last time is even more prevalent–I mourn far more last times than we actually have experienced so far). I mean, the oldest has been applying for jobs now. When the boys have been called to dinner and they appear reluctantly, I’ve pointed out that the times we share nightly meals together are rapidly diminishing, but they don’t know. They’ve always had dinner with Mom and Dad in the evenings. In as little as a matter of days, my oldest might be working most nights during the dinner hour, and we will only be three around the table. For maybe another year.
I suppose I need to get some new in my life to freshen things up, or at least distract me from the things that are passing away. I mean, I’ve been doing martial arts classes for almost a decade and triathlons for five years. So they’re not new, they’re old–and are among things that will be passing out of my life too soon. I’ve taken back up with writing poetry intermittently–but I’ve not had much coffee shop time in recent months–and I’m thinking about attending a couple of open mic nights in the near future.
But, in the mean time, I will post this song again.
Probably not for the last time.
