30 January 2010

The snow is still here and I find it oddly familiar even though I've never seen this much snow in my native city. The front door to my condo can only open about half way because the ice is so tall and sturdy. Reminiscence of the Little House On The Prairie Books come to mind as I think about Pa having to shovel Laura and Mary a tunnel so they could get to the barn for chores. Clearly this is nothing of that severity, but it's the closest I've ever come to identifying with Laura Ingalls Wilder and having idolized her as a child, I'll cling to any common bond we might share.

My dad came and rescued me with his 4 wheel drive vehicle and Hubbell and I joined him and my mom for a morning walk at Radnor Lake. No one was at the park except for a few people cross country skiing and I couldn't help but wonder why anyone in Nashville would have cross country skis on hand. I guess you could use the "just in case" logic for that, I used the same logic to justify keeping a kite the trunk of my car. But my Elmo kite seems much more practical for this climate than cross country skis.

We let the dogs off the leash and sensing the bigness around them, they were all instilled with a new youthfulness as they ran harder than they've ever run before. While we laughed watching them slip on patches of ice, my dad started telling me about someone he met at church. He said that it was a very nice young man, and he thought I might enjoy meeting him. My father has never meddled in my love life and I thought this was a good arrangement. Trying to diffuse the situation, I just said 'uh-huh' and made some off comment about how Hubbell's large feet could double as snow shoes. He pressed on telling me that his name was Barrett but he went by Barry and "you'll never believe this", he said,"his last name is Cool. C-O-O-L. He's Mr. Cool!". I could feel my eyebrows expressing cynicism and battled to not let my face give away what I was thinking. My dad continued to try to sell Barry Cool to me by saying "he's from Georgia and he drives a pick up truck. He came over to the house the other day and watched a football game with your mom and I". At this point I had to intervene, inquiring as to why he was spending evenings with my parents. To this, my father replied,"he's just easy to be around, he's kind of 'Cool' like that". There are times when my father is not funny and extremely humorous at the same time. This is one of those times.

I put a bit of a spring in my step and encouraged the dogs to chase me, hoping to run away from the conversation and the thought of my parents ever setting me up with someone so clearly not my type. Exhausted from trying to outrun two border collies and a lab, I inhaled painfully cold air and dwelt on the sharpness entering my throat and lungs and releasing comforting warm breath. My eyes watered from the cold but also from the memory of love lost and the truth that I'll have to try to replace that one day. Try to replace something that was precious and good with something that doesn't fit. The tears pooled and crowded each other in my eyes until they shoved out a few unfortunate individuals. They initially were warm trailing down my face and then the cold air had its way with them and they burned on my skin. I left black fuzz balls on my face as I dried it with the back of my mittens and saw my parents catching up in their easy stroll, probably still discussing Mr. Cool. With my composure regained, I rejoined the conversation and threw a stick for Hubbell. And that simple action, that little glimpse of joy that is inherent of making another creature happy, it was precious and good.