I’ll take the muggies, please

As I’m writing this column on press day, Tuesday, it’s snowing outside. Not just flurries, but the real stuff.

In fact it seems that whenever I do anything these days, it’s snowing. It snows at night. It snows during the day. It snows vertically. It snows horizontally. The only way it doesn’t snow is up, and that’s what I’m wishing for.

I’ve long been a winter person; having grown up ice skating on local ponds and parks, sledding down the big old hill at Kennedy (South) Park in Fall River, playing tackle football with my chums in the same park, sliding an extra 10 yards after being hit.

These are all great memories. As I grew older, I still had an affection for Old Man Winter. Let it be said right here and now, I have been cured. I have been healed. I hate winter.

I think the crowning point was when my neighbor, Leonor, blamed me for this latest onslaught of storms and blizzards. She said because I like snow, this is why we’re shoveling every other day.

Now, Leonor is the sweetest woman in the world, and when the sweetest woman in the world blames me for something, it’s time to be healed!

What has been nice through all this has been the camaraderie among most of my neighbors. We’ve been helping each other find our cars, then helping each other get them out — every other day.

On Valentine’s Day, when the blizzard finally stopped blizzarding, I was with a neighbor shoveling and I told her I now have arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger. I told her, I can’t wait for the season to sit out on our decks so I can show off my new upper body. She laughed. A little too much I thought. Emilie just shook her head, but then again, she does that a lot when I speak.

And the final straw is when I shoveled a pathway for Igor into the back yard so she can do her thing, and she ends up doing her thing on a neighbor’s sidewalk. That’s enough to make me healed.

I know we’re not out of the woods yet. In fact, we can’t even see the woods. But when summer comes, if it does, and it’s in the 90s and muggy, you’ll hear no complaints from me.

Maybe by then, the sweetest woman in the world will have forgiven me for the winter that just won’t end.


© 2019 The Anchor and Anchor Publishing    †    Fall River, Massachusetts