I used to live in South Carolina; Charleston, to be exact. Beautiful city. Summa' the homes have the taste of Old-World Southern Mansion to 'em. I really liked it there, but I've liked pretty much everywhere I've ever lived. We lived there 'bout a year; maybe a little longer. Until I moved to South Dakota, Charleston was the closest thing to feelin' like home, to me. Dunno' why.
I recall the year I was in seventh grade. From the get-go, there were surprises. I had lived previously in Maine, where snow was justa way of life; kinda' like the Dakotas. In Maine, the snow could be ten feet deep an' life went on like always. Stores opened, kids went to school, business din't really change all that much.
Things are different in South Carolina. In fact, I woke up one mornin', shortly before Thanksgiving an' was thrilled to see snow on the ground. I was a kid; that's what kids do. Everything was covered in that thin layer of white that, in some places, might almost seem like frost. The locals seemed to think it had snowed durin' the night. A full quarter-inch of snow had been recorded at the weather bureau.
7:00 in the mornin' an' there was a knock on the door. Our next door neighbor was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still showin' pillow-friendly signs an' teeth chattering. Even before we could invite her in, Mrs. LeBeau was talkin' a mile a minute. The panic in her voice was unmistakable. She din't know what to do. Should she send her son to school or keep him home? It was snowing, after all.
I recall the difficulty that my mama had in keeping a straight face. She was a veteran driver in ALL circumstances. It took her awhile to realize that the locals were not used to driving on slippery roads. While she tried to calm our neighbor, she casually turned the radio on to listen to the weather report. Before long, we heard the news that would be the final word in calming Mrs. LeBeau; all schools would be closed until further notice, due to unsafe driving conditions. That was Monday, before Thanksgiving. It snowed again, that night an' the next. I sure wasn't complainin'; I was a kid an' school was out, unexpectedly.
We din't hafta' return to school until the Monday following Thanksgiving. Only time I ever recall havin' a full week off for Thanksgiving. Truth be told, it was a sorry time for a vacation; we din't even have enough snow to build a miniature snowman. Sure makes me glad that I live where I do; where snow falls for real.
Let's hope we all get a week's vacation for Thanksgiving, this year, but not for the same reason. Otherwise, we might never dig outta' the snow.
I love trying new things. If it looks fun or inspirational or exciting or interesting, I'm anxious to know more about it.
Although I'm new at blogging, I'm certainly finding that it is one of the most intriguing ventures I have ever tried.
I love to create word puzzles and I love being home. If 'Home Is Where I Hang My Hat,' then all I have to do now is find my hat 'cause I know I hung it somewhere around here. A hat and a home; that's all I apparently need to be as happy as a lark. Since I don't know quite what the sound is that a lark makes, then I will just have to whistle a happy, 'Larky' tune.