We played and cavorted in the snow as if it was just another miraculous day on this planet. Since we don’t have cable or satellite TV (and we have only one TV in our home), we stayed fairly oblivious to the events of the southern Snowpocalypse.
Snow covers the garden plot.
Two frozen garden gnomes.
Cold and cute go hand in hand.
And so the snow fell, clogging traffic, stranding the King for a hour one drive over 8 measly miles. My sister got trapped at UAB; she and another resident tried to drive home, but couldn’t make it through Birmingham’s icy hills. Her husband saved the day by driving through the disaster to retrieve her. The King’s brother walked three miles through the snow in Atlanta to get to a safe house where he could sleep.
Watching the snow from the front window.
Little B. enjoys a water-less campout by the fireplace with hot cocoa in hand.
Abandoned cars clogged the streets and roadways. Families wept, wondering where their sons, daughters, dads, and moms might be. The stories of kindness and courage continue, interspersed with heartwrenching tales of accidents and untimely deaths.
Grandma Vicki called to tell me that Tuscaloosa had made the Athens, Ohio newspaper. She worried about us. I assured her that we were fine.
Of course, I did not mention the fact that our water pipes have been broken since last week- and that the front lawn was flooded by a broken pipe which could not be fixed until weather permitted. That’s the sort of thing that would ruin Grandma Vicki’s day. And ruining her day would ruin mine as well.
All the excavating in the front yard made it hard not to think about the significance of this day- the winter storm and how two inches of snow and ice can wreck an entire region of unprepared cities. We decided to make a time capsule and bury it in the front yard before the dirt was replaced.
And so the house gnomes scoured the house for trinkets and tidbits to add to the time capsule. The Eldest suggested we add a large letter “P” as a tribute to the King, who was unable to be with us during the auspicious ceremonials. Since the letter P stands for pedagogical and persnickety and piddle-some, I consented to the tribute.
Milla decided to donate her Hello Kitty lunch box as the vehicle for the time capsule. A few favorite collector’s cards were included by the ladies as the Eldest did his best to pen the perfect time capsule letter- one which represented the occasion (i.e. the excavation of our yard during the 2013 snowstorm) as well as his current feelings on various friends, wood trails, dog breeds, etc.
Finally, the time capsule was ready to bury, just around the time when the plumbing company approached me for a the smallest number that can be called a four-digit sum. I didn’t dare disrupt the solemn burial procession with tears over the high cost of home ownership. The procession itself, of course, deserves a post all its own. Forthcoming.