Twas the Season when a relentless
never-ending snowstorm struck,
causing some of us to stock up on
enough provisions for the 81st Airborne
as well as enough Blockbuster rentals
to bring down Hollywood,
and did I mention the secret stash of
Bacardi-flavored rums from our Caribbean jaunt?
Needless to say, I think we were pretty set. . .
On Xmas Eve, the second night of a four-day snowstorm,
we venture out for our nightly hoofing through the ‘hood
Few strangers were aboot. . . Okay, so no one was aboot. . .
Okay, just one guy with his faithful furry companion actually
Across the creek, between the trees, a magical glow beckoned . . .
Studying Ma Nature’s effects
Window-gazing wanderer or just snoopy snooper?
strikes the navigator
. . . . Hark ! A pair of headlights . . . .
Faint sounds of excited chatter echo from across the creek
Elsewhere, all is calm, green and blue
Meanwhile, a well-lit snowman dons snappy chapeau
Tangletown’s doorways are renowned
H does not shy from commenting on
homeowners’ lack of festive choices
Lots of Tudors paying homage to Mary Queen of Scots
Snow is fine and non-slippery underfoot. . .
The evil heavy slate stuff is yet to come – thanks Sven…
(the tradition of blaming the cute weatherman is not
going to die anytime soon)
That night, a clearly apologetic Sven gives fair warning: locals need to exercise caution for tomorrow’s forecast – the dig-out will be a lot heavier on account of that no-good sleet a fallin’… especially if yer snowblower is chained and locked up and you can’t find the key — arggh
H patiently waits to see who will next spin out
along the slight uphill climb on Portland
But drivers keep turning,
thwarting her evil plan
An airplane comes in for a dangerous landing. . .
resembling some other-worldly visitors, eh. . .
mebbe Santa and his eight tiny . . . engines?
Two hours later we find our twisty tangled way . . .
…to the opposite side of the parkway where this beauty had beckoned to us from across the creek
Crunching through the snow-oh, headin’ for more shovelin’ in the morning – Oy!
An ambitious few have sculpted modest snow figures
Man in the window stares –
what manner of strange beasts
prowl snow-laden streets on Christmas Eve?
The type that scrutinize, judge, and then rate
skills if u must know
By the end of our walk, the wind pitches icy prickles. . .
Ye Humble Chapeau
The next afternoon. . .
After a violent morning beating the pumpkin cranberry batter to within an inch of its life and plowing out for the bazillionth time, we must load H’s Xmas dinner dishes, and transport them across the interstate, over the hills and through the woods to Auntie and Grandma’s howzes . . . That is, if Missy can be extracted from her hypnotic viewing. . .
. . . of the film adaption of “The Mist” by that genius savant, Stephen If-It’s-Monday-I-Must-Be-On-My-500th novel-King. . . Don’t say I didn’t warn her ! She whimpers later, “Why didn’t you tell me it was gonna scare the bejeebus outta me ??” And even later, she adds, “How inappropriate for Xmas was that??” “Heck,” I shrugged, “you’re the one that decided to start watching it.” “Besides,” I sniffed, “it’s far superior to any holiday horror flicks out there. . ..” You know, like axe-wielding homicidal snowmen — I do have my limits . . . (ps: Rent it – it’s awesome! “The Mist” that is, not the cranky-pants snowman)
NEXT UP: To Grandmama’s House We Go !
Shutter speed snow rays
. . .the Grandma in question. . .
new blinds filter a rainbow of light
Tense driving for H, the roads are beyond icy
Her focus is impressive while her knuckles are white
Doin’ the “Bartley” to cheer up Leeme
Dreamin’ of Santa and Hanukkah Harry,
Gracie slumbers while wintry winds
conduct circles and swirls
Deck the lobby with Holiday trimmings
Holiday log jam in Mississippi’s lock and dam
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