There's something to be said about the privilege we have in a state like Iowa. A latitude where we can fully appreciate the four seasons. Spring brings back the green, turning to summer where heat, farmers-tans and the state fair make their welcome appearance. Then autumn, back to jeans, football games and the waft of burning leaves in the air. Well, those are memories now since burning is banned in city limits, but get 20 miles away and you can't mistake that wonderful smell. Then there is winter...as under appreciated as honeybees. Why is it that hope "springs" eternal, there was the "summer" of love and autumn is always represented in the most colorful of ways? But, winter...winter gets the shaft. There's old man winter, The Winter of Our Discontent, Mr. Freeze of Batman villiandom (played by a Californian too...couldn't they get and Iowan to fill that role? Someone like........Tom Arnold!), Jack Frost is never painted as the guy you bring home to mom, and the abominable snowman was the coldest and scariest memory from my childhood.
Sure, there are some niceties winter reaps rewards from, but mostly they stem from the holidays, a time for happiness regardless of climatology. A white Christmas comes to mind. But, all you have to do in Iowa is go to the store, sit by a water cooler or watch the local news and the complaining will flow like an avalanche coming down a mountain. It's time to stop sleeting on winter's parade and begin to give it its due.
Like everything else in my life I always take time to see the converse...Sure, in winter it gets dark just after lunch, shoveling ain't easy, icicles on your nose hairs while jogging is far from flattering, fenderbergs on the Honda make it nearly impossible to turn the steering wheel, and of course, no sweetcorn. As usual, I get it. But let me submit that if it weren't for tough times, (meteorologically and metaphorically speaking) we wouldn't appreciate the good now would we?
Would you rather celebrate spring warm-weather style? Like in Phoenix, where your grass turns 1, maybe 2, pantone shades of green, greener? Or, would you appreciate it more if you'd just come out of 23 straight days of sub zero temperatures, 3 ice storms, a flood, 4 feet of snow, nine bags of melting salt(per storm) and a brief, but safe, stint with black ice on I-80? Need I say more? And, if you're not from Iowa and you're wondering why these bumpkins from up north slap on their bermuda's and coolats at the oft chance of a 50 degree day in March whilst giving a rats ass that their legs are blindingly white... well, now you know.
Back to today, when a revisit of one of the best childhood past times rears its head in order to be past timed. As for today...was a sledding day! It was perfect! slightly overcast, still cold enough to hold the snow in its perfectly powdery state and my kids were testing the limits of my vocal chords. Even I was sick of hearing "boys, ENOUGH!". Forget lunch, forget football, it was time to bundle up!
Now, I realize that the mountainous Americans appreciate snow as much as anyone. They've made it fun. But don't discount us flatlanders. As we Iowans have the neighborhood hill, the muni golf course, and if your lucky, a bluff. Those blessed with geological upheavals look at snow like a college kid looks at mug night. But scrap the $100 lift tickets, the furry boots and the apres ski crap, we use sleds! And, we polish the experience off with the best mom-treat there is, HOT CHOCOLATE! Extra marshmallows please!!!
Everyone has sledding memories (everyone fortunate to have snow that is)...some pertain to inner tubes, some toboggans, others hearken back to that simple, ultra thin, plastic carpet swatch with a handle. Regardless, everyone has memories and isn't that what counts? Winter isn't brown zoysia grass and 60 degree tempaeratures...winter is a snow covered hill waiting to be manhandled by a dozen 9 year olds and their plastic rockets!
Sledding is wonderfully simple in its name, (now my favorite gerund) but in actuality it's an art form, strike that, it's a ritual. Sledding calls for a coat, boots, snow pants, hat, hood, wool socks and good gloves (not the cotton ones because a snowball fight is sure to ensue and there's nothing worse that wet gloves in a snowball fight! We've all been there...after about 6 throws your just hoping your glove doesn't stick to your next projectile leaving you gloveless in Seattle). In essence, you're "bundled up". Put together like the little brother in A Christmas Story. Warm enough to survive face plant after face plant and that unpreventable caked-on snow that finds its way to the back of your shirt and magically appears as little snowballs on your socks. Snowballs you flick on your little brother as you unbundle in the doorway.
On this day I was the bundler not the bundlee. Today's undertaking was different this time, as today I was filling the role of parent; onlooker. I was retired. The beauty of being retired from sledding is experiencing it through the eyes of my children as well as those from the neighborhood. It started out just as I'd remembered it as fresh snow calls for a few test runs where you begin to lay down a groove, but also there to rev up the nerves. You start slow, just as my boys did. On your butt, hands clenched to the side of the saucer with the force of vice grips. And within a few runs you're gunning for speed, distance and air time. And there I am, on my hands and knees, with my boys, making moguls with the precision of a snow cat. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the past in my kids eyes as they fly skyward with a disregard parents can only hope for.
The first glimpse came 2 runs into my little guy's christening as he had a minor yard sale at the foot of the hill. You know the one, you catch an edge and end up superman-style in the snow with a shovel load of the melting white stuff down your shirt. As I sprint over to make sure he's OK, he flips on his back and starts into full snow angel mode. Snow peeking from his hat with the melt training down his face like Tammy Faye on CBN. But, he was happy. As happy as happy can look all bundled up. He was there. He was sledding!
In my day I didn't have the mass X-Games influence my kids do, we had to use our imagination when it came to sledding tricks. That, and the Evel Knievel stuff (see jumping the Snake River but I'll leave that for my Bigwheel story). A "90 with gnarly air" meant grandma farted. Today, any number with a corresponding "gnarly" means potential ER visit. I had to throttle back a lot more than I had hoped. New role and all. Except with the neighbor kids of course. I'd have them test a move before stamping a family approval on it. Plus, mom was in the window and quickly at the front door as soon as it got a little sketchy(see... I'm down with the boarder lingo).
I loved my new role, coach, sled tosser, back stop, traffic watch and memory recaller. I was loving my kids loving sledding. And to make it even better, so were some of the passers by. I had one older couple, a couple who at first glance had kids who now have kids. A couple that felt compelled to stop, roll down their window and with beaming smiles say "making memories huh?". "No doubt", I said. "No doubt!" Just then I whipped out my phone and snapped a couple. The mental ones are special, but technology is a wonderful thing.
As if that weren't enough, here comes another rolled down window. At this point however, it was met with boos from the kids as they were anxiously awaiting my 1-2-3 go! call. "We used to sled over there", pointing to the steepest part of our hill. "Before the landscaping". With every word he became a little younger. "Back then old lady Sobrocco didn't care much for us, but she was old". "We even used the driveway, but line of sight was an issue, we needed a spotter, that's your job huh?" "It's my job and I'm loving it", I replied. And, even though he wanted to stay and talk, he knew he was holding something up. So, off he went. Slowly looking back, slowly reverting into the now, but with a memory that can immediately take him back to "then" whenever he wants.
Today was a sledding day! And, like the first couple put it, it was a "making memories" day. That part I had not expected. It might have been cold...there were red cheeks to show it was, but we didn't notice. Even more, without the snow and the cold, these were memories we wouldn't have created. Memories I know I'll carry forever, and ones I know my kids will as well. Winter has a way of freezing them into you.
