Winters in the Rockies are graded by how many times I fall on my ass walking on the icy sidewalks. This year is a particularly icy and, thereby, painful year, having succumbed to gravity four times thus far.
And it's only February 3rd.
The fall this morning was a particularly spectacular one, occurring while walking the dog at an icy patch several blocks away from home. My feet went out from beneath me and I landed firmly on my right elbow. True to form, the dog came to my defense, barking loudly at the unknown force which brought his master to the icy concrete. In utter frustration at having fallen so many times this winter, I shouted rather loudly "**** this winter!" In the distance I heard the raucous applause of those who seemingly agreed with my assessment. Surprisingly, the applause was coming from the congregation at the nearby Methodist church.
Yes, it has been a long winter.
Here, we tend to rationalize our winter misery. When the snow is falling at the rate of 2" an hour the locals are quick to exclaim "isn't it beautiful." When it hasn't snowed in a week and we suddenly become inundated with armpit-high snowdrifts, the mantra becomes "we really need the moisture." When cars become bumper cars on the icy streeets the positive rationale becomes "the guys at the tire store need the business." In short, there is no end to how we try to turn a miserable snowstorm into a quasi-day at the beach.
Me, I'm much less "Pollyanna" about the whole thing:
**** this winter.
Readers, enjoy your day.
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