We have lots and lots of snow. Big, heaping drifts. Could barely open the back door so the dogs could go out to pee. Not that they wanted to go out there, but I was in no mood for the alternative. They walked out the back door, turned right back around and looked at me, like, You have got to be kidding.
I’m in Colorado, so snow is nothing new. It’s just that, unless you live in the mountains, the snow doesn’t stick around. Try telling that to my dad.
Every time it snows, Dad calls from Texas: “How’s the snow up there?” And, of course, by the time he calls, it’s gone. I tell him that, and he doesn’t believe me. I think he thinks I’m either nuts and just can’t see it, or lying for some reason. Like now I’m old enough to not get in trouble for telling a fib.
So, today’s the day. Snow everywhere. “State of Emergency” and all that. Everything is closed. Even Super Walmart, and they never close.
I know he’s sitting in his leather la-z-boy watching the weather channel. The phone still hasn’t rang. I’m ready to tell him stories about going out to the store for food in case we get snowed in. I can share tales of the idiot drivers who think they should speed up when they start to slide. I can even mention the hundreds of people stranded at the airport.
I’m going to miss my chance. He’ll call in a couple of days when the skies are clear again. So, here’s a picture out my back door, just in case he asks. I took it before the snow started getting serious.
Happy now, Dad?
