Dreaming of Winter
So we have our traditional “camp out night,” every Friday, an instrumental bonding technique we’ve featured in this space previously. After I returned home from my weekly role as a television color analyst on Comcast’s football coverage, and then took in the final stages of the World Series, it was time to get around the campfire. That, of course, meant turning on the gas fireplace, tucking the kids into their “beds” on the oriental rugs and snuggling into my spot on the down-filled couch.
In other words, hearty, but nonetheless perfect, stuff.
But that’s not the focus this month. Rather, it is what happened before dawn, when I heard one of the not-so-original Three Musketeers offer in not-so-subtle terms, “Guys, it’s snowing!”
Yeah, that’s pretty much when our little quaint setting turned into a nightmare.
I know this column’s genesis is the aftermath of a 2010 storm big enough to comfortably allow the creation of a backyard igloo, but to the extent I can even stomach winter, it surely isn’t before the ghost and goblin thing has run its course.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked people 40 years younger don’t see it that way. Turns out, I’m glad they don’t.
Adults aren’t real keen on what is projected to be a mean winter because we know the real-life implications. Kids don’t. Indeed, shortly after they awoke me with their startling call to arms, I settled back into that sofa listening to the excitement adults not only marvel at, but in some respects, yearn for.
And that’s when the snow thing, albeit not enough to truly be meaningful on the ground, became that and more.
“Guys, I can’t wait until the snow’s here all the time. It’s fun.” Or, “I love when we walk into the house from the snow and the fireplace is on and the house smells good with what Mom’s cooking.”
They didn’t know I was listening, but I heard them loud and clear. And with their voices piercing the darkness surrounding us, the glow of that camp site suddenly, and thankfully, felt very bright.