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February 16, 2004

Walking In A Winter Wonderland

The day-long rain finally switched over to snow about 9 o'clock last night, bringing with it the promise of cabin fever, which we'd already started to suffer from, there being no real reason to drive anywhere in the cold Sunday drizzle to begin with.

I'd gone so far as to re-install Diablo II on one of the upstairs PCs in an attempt to lessen the creeping claustrophobia. Couldn't fine the original CD key--I suspect it's residing in the landfill after being mistakenly tossed in the trash during a spring-cleaning, but no matter. I found one online and used it instead. Ngnat and I spent an enjoyable hour or two hacking zombies to bits while Scotty dragged himself from toy to toy on the floor below. It really didn't do anything for my dose of cabin fever, but having us all upstairs and away from her did the wife a bit of good.

A bit that was promptly used up when the DVR cut off the last half-minute of Sex and the City, HBO having started it late, but that's a tale for a parallel universe. I've elected not to tell it, so as to preserve her ladylike image in the eyes of the Internet.

Ngnat's bedtime is 8:00, with stories and various entertainments until 8:30, when the lights are turned out. She's been staying awake way past that time lately, so once the street was covered in white I got her up, pulled wooly stockings then jeans up over her pajamas, put on her coat and snow boots, and took her out into the storm.

As, the sheer glee of being not only up and out of bed after bedtime, but being OUTSIDE! IN THE SNOW! We walked around the cul-de-sac, turning around every four feet to look at the footprints we'd left behind. Ngnat stomped in puddles of slush, secure in the faith of the mighty fortresses that were her pink plastic boots. I wrote her name in the snow* and she spelled out the letters. The Sainted Wife joined us for a time, but with Scotty M asleep upstairs, she couldn't go far. We made locomotive noises and waked without lifting our feet, so that two rails of black stretched out behind us, stark against the white powder surrounding it, and we caught snowflakes on our tongues.

Had he known, and been, well, alive, it would have warmed the cockles of Charles Schulz's heart. It was Ngnatís idea, and the only time she has ever seen children catch snow on their tongues has been during her repeated-ad-infinitum viewings of a Charlie Brown Christmas. She's the third generation of my family he's snared. I stopped reading Peanuts sometime in the early 90s. Schulz had lost his touch by then, and every other strip was about the horrid Spike, when what I wanted was Shermy, Schroeder and Violet, but I still have all the books--they're some of the first things I can remember reading, and before I could read, my father read them to me. Now I read Love Is Walking Hand in Hand to Ngnat at bedtime, and so pass the odd fondness for Metropolitan Life advertisements onto another generation.

Eventually the snow accumulated to such degree that Ngnat no longer needed to catch single flakes in order to eat them--her mittens were white with built-up accumulation. We made our way back to the house, past old footprints and railroad rails already disappearing under a new blanket of powder, to sit inside by the faux gas fire logs. Within an hour one would have never known we were outside.

Ngnat's getting close to the age when permanent memories first start to form. It would be nice if this were one of them.

*With my feet, you filthy animals.

Posted by Bigwig at February 16, 2004 11:16 AM | TrackBack
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Nice. It'll make a sweet memory. Thanks for sharing.

Posted by: Yomama at February 18, 2004 10:37 AM
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