I was sitting peacefully perusing a Jacque Pepin recipe when I heard it, the sound of my friend Jim’s plow. I opened the garage door to say hello and was surprised to see that last night’s snowstorm had dropped about six inches of that white stuff. After my hello’s I turned to go back inside and spotted my golf clubs standing in the corner like a lonely, cold sentinel beckoning me to walk over there and embrace them and once again put them to use.
We’ve had a few years where golf was played far into the winter, but not much of a chance this year as at least 14 inches have already fallen in Southington and much more in other parts of the state.It was then that a familiar thought came back into my head. Why in the world did my Polish ancestors settle up here in merry old New England? Why not Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia (Savannah is nice). Without question, New England has its charm, wonderful fall foliage, and a lot more, but on a morning like this it really “sucks”, unless of course you’re young and have no problem propelling yourself down a frozen slope. This aging body has reached a point where sitting by a roaring fire is the preferred activity. I’m not one who enjoys hot weather, but I feel I could probably have learned to adjust to sweating a little more.
Well at least everyone will get that wished for White Christmas, don’t see a thaw coming to melt it away. Another thought just popped in.
Why to bears get to sleep away the winter. Have to try that some day.
