I pressed my nose and hands to the glass, unconcerned by the finger prints and nose shmears left behind.\u00a0 Yes.\u00a0 It was good to be a kid on Alston Avenue in the Winston household where a smudge here or there wasn’t a matter of alarm.<\/p>\n
I strained to catch evidence of accumulating snow.<\/p>\n
My vantage point was the landing between the center halls of our first and second floors.\u00a0 The window located there looked out to our backyard.\u00a0 And on a good night there was enough of a moon to cast a silver glow on the grass, the bare limbs of our verbena tree and the roof of our garage.\u00a0 That silver coating?\u00a0 Maybe it was snow?<\/p>\n
Actually the best place to confirm falling snow was the window from our den on the first floor.\u00a0 The street light placed just to the left of our house projected a perfect triangle of light that would illuminate falling flakes.<\/p>\n
For me, snow was a matter of faith.\u00a0 It’s what I prayed for.\u00a0 And prayers began in earnest a week or so before Thanksgiving.\u00a0 Call it a New England tradition… snow, Thanksgiving were key ingredients in our regional psyche.\u00a0 Even before a snow day became a critical part of my academic planning, I loved snow.\u00a0 Great to play in it, great to shovel it.\u00a0 Great to come back inside to dry socks, hot chocolate and an afghan on the couch.<\/p>\n
On the night that I am thinking of, the results from first floor outpost yielded negative results.\u00a0 Failing to see snow from the den window, the landing was my “court of last hope.”\u00a0 I knew that if I pressed up close enough to the glass, and concentrated, I could, with the help of suitable prayer, will<\/em> the snow to fall.\u00a0 Maybe if I squinted, the silver layer on the grass would morph<\/em> into a dusting of snow?\u00a0 A dusting <\/em>being the necessary step to “inchage”… and inchage<\/em> being the foretelling of “footage.”<\/p>\n Yes.\u00a0Bring on a blizzard.<\/p>\n Strategically the landing was a mere five steps from the second floor hall and the bedroom I shared with my Grandmother.\u00a0 And more than an altar for my snow prayers, the landing was a treasured spot for all types of imaginary indoor play that could occupy my childhood.<\/p>\n The landing, for example, was an ideal location for a machine gun emplacement.\u00a0 Using cushions from the den couch, pillows from my bedroom, and assorted blankets & comforters, I could construct a formidable redoubt.\u00a0\u00a0 A broomstick would be pressed into service as an M60 machine gun. \u00a0Occupying the heights, I had covering fire for the downstairs center hall, I had an excellent line of sight to our backyard, and to the Gordon’s yard next door.<\/p>\n It was also a brief distance to my bedroom and the alternate line of supply.\u00a0 The bedroom was the place where I could stash provisions and extra ordinance (navel oranges serving both purposes: doubling as food and<\/em> as hand grenades).\u00a0 Armed thus, I could withstand any assault or siege for ninety minutes… or more<\/em>!<\/p>\n Our Bedlington Terriers walked in fear!<\/p>\n In peace time<\/em>, the landing was our home\u2019s primo<\/em> sun spot in late mornings.\u00a0 The Bedlingtons knew this.\u00a0 And so did I.\u00a0 Sometimes we need to re-charge<\/em> our batteries, re-gain strength from a strenuous morning of taking out enemy patrols or, in the case of the Bedlingtons, from peeing on the living room drapes (by this time, I was mostly house trained.\u00a0 The Bedlingtons, by contrast, never had a housebroken day in their lives).<\/p>\n Baa-Baa and Rocky (the Bedlingtons who took liberties with our drapes) and I would share a sun drenched wedge on the landing.\u00a0 I snoozed.\u00a0 They snoozed.\u00a0 It takes plenty of energy to knock out the Wehrmacht<\/em> and to pee on the drapes.\u00a0 And a brief snooze goes a long way in restoring essential life\u2019s forces.\u00a0 All mammals know this.<\/p>\n We return to that winter night: I am sure that I see snow there.<\/em><\/p>\n I pressed yet closer to the pane, feeling the cold of the glass.\u00a0 And as much as I would have wished otherwise, a yard draped in silver doesn’t convert into a snow field, regardless of prayer.\u00a0 Even a young mammal like me knew that…\u00a0 no matter how close I pressed to the window.<\/p>\n Yet… I could blink.\u00a0 There was hope still.\u00a0 And regardless of age, hope is always a good thing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I pressed my nose and hands to the glass, unconcerned by the finger prints and nose shmears left behind.\u00a0 Yes.\u00a0 It was good to be a kid on Alston Avenue in the Winston household where a smudge here or there … Continue reading