Margotlog: First Snow

Margotlog: Snow

Yes, it snowed yesterday in St. Paul, Minnesota. The air swirled with heavy globs and drifty flakes, making me think, for a moment, of recalcitrant students until it dawned on me that I was not teaching undergraduates any more--AND this stuff in the front yard, back yard, and up and down the avenue was enrolled in an eduation system of its own kind.

Item One, Memory: Let's say thirty years ago, THE Halloween blizzard of all blizzards dumped at least three feet of snow on the Twin Cities in twenty-four hours. There we were, Fran and I, driving around in his "superior" Volkswagen. Item: THERE IS NO SUPERIOR VOLKSWAGEN in three feet of wet, heavy snow. We got stuck. Our tires spun. We skidded into snow banks. A big car pushed us out. Somehow we made our goal, whatever it was. That GOAL has melted into memory, but the blizzard itself will always remain frightful and intense--a whoop-de-do.

We were young and foolish.

Yesterday, globs of white stuff plummeted down, driving the squirrels in the backyard frantic. They were very wet, hungry and desperate. Not a one had built a leaf house in the arms of a tree. One, more intrepid than the others, rushed up on the deck and began chewing into the cooler where I'd been directed (by a higher power) to keep chunks of fancy suet cold. In my heavy house slippers, I chased the varmint off, but feeling sorry for the mob of gray desperados in the back yard, I cut several suet cakes into bits, grabbed handfulls of dry cat food, and with my parka flapping, but in my boots, rushed out to succor the mob. Opening the garage door to the metal trash cans that house the various kinds of seeds which I usually sprinkle on the ground, I suddenly found myself fanned by a squirrel rushing OUT of the garage. How it had made its way in, I now refuse to consider.

Let's say that nature has been kind. Outside my window, sun sparkles on the gold and red and green of a lovely fall morning. The light's angle is low which makes the leaves glimmer and shimmer in the light breeze. The temperature is around 45 degrees. It is a lovely fall day. I'll walk the long way, over Hamline Bridge to Fran's old neighborhood where Fran and I were deliriosly happy in first love.

But, I remind myself, it was May when we met. No weather events to mar our giddy delight. More mature and seasoned now, we can still be happy--he'll be home today from playing  Scrabble in Madison. That would be Wisconsin for anyone reading this who isn't from the UPPER Midwest where almost every weather extreme except sand storms have been known to happen.