When I was a kid, and I mean a little kid, a few things defined my expectations about life. The first, and I know this is sick, was that Twiggy was the hottest thing on two legs. Come to think of it, I saw a picture of her recently and she still looks pretty damn good to me. The second, and admittedly much more important thing, was that Bart Starr was the best GD quarterback in the NFL. Period. This proved problematic, as I grew up in Dallas, Texas. I went to every Cowboys-Packers game played in the Cotton Bowl throughout the sixties, and my father and I made the trip north to the infamous Ice Bowl championship game. He did not like the Packers. He fumed behind the yoke in his Baron all the way back to Texas. I was, on the other hand, more circumspect. I did not gloat. Much.
The third thing was snow. It snowed, on average, about one day every third winter in that part of Texas, so I loved the very idea of snow, and probably in inverse proportion to the amount of snow in my life. And what, you may ask, stoked this kid’s lust for frozen white precipitation?
Yes. A movie. I know…how typically American. Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney, in White Christmas. And yes, that’s pure America.
Every Christmas Eve, WFAA Channel 8 in Dallas used to show White Christmas – at midnight – and I learned all about snow watching that movie.
Yeah. Uh-huh. Right. There’s a lesson somewhere in there if you care to take note.
It’s more likely, however, that I developed a serious fascination with girl’s legs watching that movie, and I remember thinking that Rosemary Clooney was almost as cute as Twiggy. Though Miss Clooney didn’t dance as much as Vera Ellen, her legs were some kinda good – though Vera Ellen’s legs probably ruined me for life…
So, totally enamored with all things snow, I learned to love the mountains – inferentially. For a Texan, Colorado is synonymous with mountains, and I spent more and more time up here – first in Aspen (before money ruined the place) and then Snowmass. I learned to ski, even raced competitively, and took up mountain climbing, serious climbing, as a matter of fact. All because of a Bing Crosby movie.
I bring this up today because I want to talk about snow. Goddamn, mother-fucking snow.
I have not written a word since Sunday…because of snow.
It started snowing on Sunday night, and it stopped snowing this morning (Thursday), so let’s call it three and a half days of snow. Solid snow. Seventy four inches of snow. Four days of shoveling GD MF snow.
So, am I dreaming of a White Christmas?
Well no, actually, I’m dreaming of Miami Beach. Hell, Iraq doesn’t sound half bad right now. Oh, that’s Heidi (below) wondering where all her favorite spots went. I tried to tell her, they’re down there, under six feet of SNOW!
Oh, one of the extra added joys up here is getting snow not only off all your decks and walkways, but your roof, too.
Joy to the world, eh?
Oh, (p.s.) by morning’s end the shovel broke. Just gave up the ghost and died.
Happy trails, y’all. Thanks for dropping by. Oh, for some reason I decided to start work on a sequel to Predator. Whodathunkit?