One Blustery Day

Paula and Laura Hemingway

Paula and Laura Hemingway

Paula Hemingway

Is this Texas? Did I move to Robson Ranch or Siberia? I’d never seen so much ice in the Lone Star State, but I figured it would be gone in a day or two. Boy, was I wrong. It hung around like a bad cold.

Television had lost its luster. We were bored with board games. Reading by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate wasn’t so hot anymore. We had a bad case of Briscoe fever.

Laura, our daughter in college, interrupted the silence with, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go for a walk!”

“Are you kidding? It’s cold and slippery out there.” I rolled my eyes.

“It will be fun.”

I hesitated. “Okay…I’ll go if Dad goes.” Mark went.

We found our long underwear and bundled up to brave the frigid outdoors. I was nervous about falling on the ice, but at least the glacial air was fresh and exhilarating. After we all shuffled down the driveway, Mark snapped a photo of Laura and me by the icicle mailbox. Robson Ranch looked like a ghost town shellacked with ice, leaving no sign of human life: no cars, no friendly neighbors walking around the block, and no golf carts darting around with smiling, waving passengers.

After half a block I’d had enough and wanted to make an about-face toward home, but the other two seemed to be having a better time. Brrrr…I hate cold!

My feet and brain wanted to be home by the fire. What a relief when our frosty excursion was over.

About the time my body thawed, Laura said, “I have an idea! Let’s go on a golf cart ride!”

“What? That’s crazy!”

“Yeah, we could do doughnuts in the street. It’ll be a blast!”

“Yeah…it’ll be a blast—of cold air!” I had to admit it sounded sort of fun, and this time I didn’t have to worry about falling.

We again donned our woolen mittens, caps and scarves for another adventure into our arctic neighborhood. Seated in the icebox-on-wheels with only a windshield to protect us, we wrapped in blankets like human burritos. As Mark spun our joyride down the street, the swirling wind whipped up my blanket. I yelled, “I feel cold air!”

Laura roared with laughter. “Of course you feel cold air! It’s cold outside!” We couldn’t quit laughing as we repeated the conversation each time the blanket fluttered in the breeze. Between blanket issues, we sang Christmas carols as loud as we could into the stillness.

We did have a blast, and it was very cool.