Tale of a Snowy Spring Day

Although the calendar moved from winter to spring this past week, the weather couldn’t keep up with it. On Wednesday we had snow that started early and kept falling for hours. Schools were closed, but my wife was able to get to work without any problems.

My usual Wednesday morning nursing home ministry was cancelled, however. That meant I could still get two walks in at the mall. Clearing the car off didn’t take much; the snow was so soft it brushed off easily. The roads were mostly just wet, and the parking lot at the mall was slushy in places, but not dangerous to drive on.

 I always go in through the entrance at Penney’s salon. My wife and I have been doing that for a long time because the nice salon employees are generous are letting us hang our coats in their little customer closet, even though we get our haircuts elsewhere.

Although I hadn’t been taking advantage of that closet recently because the mall hasn’t been well heated this year, it was a real necessity that day. I was wearing boots–definitely not what I wanted to wear for a thirty-minute walk–but I’d brought my walking shoes in a plastic bag.

The salon was empty–no employees, no lights–but I changed into walking shoes and put my boots in the closet. Walking through the store, I admired some electronic gear that was on sale and cute tee-shirts displaying a rabbit head with part of an ear broken off (labeled “Oh, snap!”). Then I headed into the mall and had a good walk.

Several hours later, I decided to get my second walk out of the way. So I returned to Penney’s and went through the same routine about my shoes and boots. But I hung my coat in the closet that time. And why not? I was wearing a heavy sweater.

I’d seen only a few walkers that morning, but now–this was a little after 1:00–nobody else was walking. In fact, I marveled at the number of stores that had closed early. Considering the number that had never opened, things looked rather ghostly.

I’d been walking about ten minutes when one of the security guards stopped me and said the mall had just closed. He was nice enough to let me go the short distance to my turning spot, but I didn’t think I should take advantage of his kindness by attempting to do my second loop as well.

As I watched the rest of the mall stores closing right before my eyes, I couldn’t keep from thinking, “What if Penney’s closes its mall entrance before I can get there?” I started moving faster…and praying.

Sure enough, as I rounded the final corner, there Penney’s sat, its gate closed and no one who might have been able to let me in visible inside. When I saw another security guard, a very pregnant lady I’d gotten to know better since she passed out one morning many months ago, I told her my problem.

She couldn’t get me into Penney’s, but she did lead me down a corridor I’d never noticed before, one that led to an exit probably a hundred yards or so from my car. And an equal distance from where I was to Penney’s salon entrance.

I felt so blessed that the snow had practically stopped; I wouldn’t get very wet. But the temperature was barely above freezing. No matter how warm my sweater was, I moved as fast as I could towards the salon entrance. I nearly burst into a song of praise when someone exited through that door. He must have been store personnel since he questioned why I wanted to come in. He believed me, fortunately.

I changed back into boots, put on my coat, and headed to my car.

I was tempted to leave you in suspense about whether I got into Penney’s or not, but I was already concerned about whether anyone was still reading this post, and the conclusion of the story would not have been worthy of a sequel next week.

Have you ever had an unusual experience–maybe something that could have been either disastrous or, as in my case, simply a huge nuisance–that turned out okay? Or maybe not okay. How about leaving a comment.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

          

Links you might be interested in:

 

Advertisements

Snow & Pizza

SnowAndPizza 001     SnowAndPizza 002

Some things never change, no matter how old I get. Like having pizza when we have snow.

That’s a tradition that started when I was in college. I attended Frostburg State College (now University) and lived in a rooming house a block or two from campus. The town and consequently the college were named after a family named Frost.

But—with the kind of winter weather we had there—the name really fit. While it’s hard to remember many details about my time at Frostburg—I told you I’m aging gracelessly—I remember snow being on the ground on a regular basis.

I didn’t have a car yet. In fact, I didn’t get my license till late summer after graduation and my first car three or four months later. So I had to walk if I needed anything from Frostburg’s modest “downtown.”

But the only thing I ever really “needed” from the main drag was a couple of slices of pizza. I could’ve eaten more, but I couldn’t afford it.

So it wasn’t unusual for me to trudge out while the last little bit of daylight remained and slip and slide up and down a few hills to reach my pizza place.

My intentions were always good: to wait until I got back to the house before eating.

Have you ever carried a box of fresh, hot pizza at chest level? Hard to ignore that delicious aroma, isn’t it? Especially if every part of you but your hands is freezing.

So I inevitably started nibbling on my treat while slipping and sliding my way back to the house. I was careful, though. As careful as possible considering what I was doing. But I don’t question that—had I fallen down—protecting the pizza would’ve taken priority over protecting myself.

After all, broken bones would mend–eventually. But I couldn’t afford to go back and replace any lost pizza.

That started a tradition for me. One that continued with my first wife and has continued with Kathleen. Whenever it snows, we have to have pizza. And we don’t order and have it delivered. One of us goes out to pick it up.

We do NOT walk, however. Neither do we eat in the car on the way home. We have to be practical. Texting and driving isn’t safe, and driving and eating pizza is even more dangerous.

This winter has broken our tradition, though. Or at least thrown it off kilter a little. We’ve had so much more snow than usual that we would look like a pair of Pillsbury Dough Boys if we’d indulged with each snowfall we’ve had.

But talking about it brings back those same fond memories, and I hope I never get too old to enjoy pizza when we have our first snowfall of the season—and periodically thereafter. Living without that would be graceless indeed.

Do you have any quirky traditions? How about sharing them with us?

I’ll be back again on Wednesday. Please join me then. Better yet, go to the top right hand section of this screen and click to follow this blog by email. That way you’ll never miss a post.

Best regards,
Roger