The talk about the plight of Brian Williams has subsided while we moan about how cold it is and how much snow keeps falling in other parts of the country.
When I was growing up, we had no central heating. A parlor furnace in the living room and a wood-burning range in the kitchen were our sources of heat.
We slept in upstairs bedrooms that were unheated except for the little heat that rose up through a register in the bedroom floor. The fire did not last the night, so in the morning we dressed very quickly, sometimes behind the parlor furnace that our fathers lit before we arose.
The kitchen was always the warmest room in the house and was the family room in those days. We played cards on the kitchen table, put jigsaw puzzles together there and popped corn on the kitchen range in an iron skillet over the open fire by removing the stove lid.
Someone once said that if it weren’t for the weather, 90 percent of the population could not start a conversation.
Those who pooh-pooh the thought of global warming are having a field day mocking the ones that believe we are heading to a warmer climate.
I checked my archives to see what more learned people than I had to say about the weather. Sinclair Lewis said Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.
That last quote reminded me of potholes and the work they provides for those who fill them and the people who drive the snow plows.
We kept wishing for February to arrive and hoped it would be better than mean old January and look what we have.
Here is a variation of an old poem we learned as children,
Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November
All the rest have 31
Except February – which has 80.
From an old Readers Digest:
No winter lasts forever and no spring skips its turn.
Another one said:
Laziness has many disguises. Soon winter doldrums will become spring fever.
Tale heart. We move our clocks forward March 8, at 2 a.m. If only we could do the same with our calendars.
But then, can spring be far behind?
Soon the roar of riding lawn mowers will replace the cacophony of the snowplows. Then we can gripe about how hot it is and those pesky mosquitoes.