I have to say I was a little disappointed. I looked out the kitchen window frequently on Tuesday, and at no time did the outhouse disappear in a whiteout. I went outside a couple of times and had no need to keep in contact with the house so I didn't wander off, directionless, into the storm.
As blizzards go, it was pretty weak, really. But it'll be more fun years from now.
"I remember back in aught-eleven when the big blizzard hit. We was buried under 26 feet of snow in under an hour," I'll say. "Back then we were tougher. That was back before all the fancy nuclear hover-buses you kids got today. We didn't have any goldurn geodesic domes with controlled climates."
I'll spin the yarn just as I'll recall it happening by then.
"Joyce had to go out to get some wood for the stove, so I tied a chain around her so she wouldn't get blowed away," I'll say. "She got two steps out the door and the wind took her! I hauled on that chain like I was flyin' a kite and finally got 'er landed."
Truthfully, none of that happened, but I intend to be a lying old codger.
"Went out the next day and found the cows all froze in the field. Tried to pick 'em up with the tractor forks under their bellies and their legs broke off.
"Next July they was still froze, so I just strung some wire on 'em and used 'em for fence posts."
I don't actually have any cows or a tractor, but you can't make the fence post lie with chicken legs. They're just not tall enough.
"Back then, we didn't have none of these dang materializers to bring us our goods. If you wanted somethin', you got out and went to a store, by cracky."
I certainly intend to say "by cracky" a lot, but I'm not sure what it means.
"'Round the eighth day after the storm, we was out of macaroni and cheese, so I hitched the min-pins up to the sled and we took off across the tundra. Once in a while you'd see a little hole in the snow with smoke coming out of it. There was houses down there buried under all that snow, 'see."
I doubt anybody will still be listening by that point in the tale, but you can bet there'll be two or three other codgers sitting there nodding, saying yup, that's just how it was.
Once you hit middle age, codgerhood is just about all you have to look forward to.
***
Joyce and I, longtime Steelers fans, appreciate the show of support in the Lebanon area for our favorite NFL team now that the Super Bowl is upon us. You see yellow and black jackets and pennants everywhere.
I have to wonder, though, why some of the jackets are labeled as "Jackets," but none of the pennants are labeled as "Pennants." In fact, some of the pennants are labeled as "Jackets."
I'm sorry that earlier in this column I used the SB term. Apparently that's a tightly held trademark now. Commercials on TV and the radio all week have been about stocking up for the "Big Game."
Everybody's afraid to say "Super Bowl." Oops. There it is again. I am in so much trouble.
I wonder if I say "Super Bowl" again if the NFL will sue me thrice or just have multiple counts in the same lawsuit?
Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl!
In for a penny, in for a pound, I reckon.
Ken York's column appears in The Daily Record, Lebanon, Mo. It is reprinted here with permission.
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