January Blues and a Story

As we are nearing the end of January, I have felt the January blues starting to set in.  The holidays are a distant memory and spring is still too far away to be nothing more than a mere thought.  All I have to look forward to is Groundhog's Day, which isn't much.  This is the time of year I really start getting tired of winter, which I know is quite whiny of me.  I don't remember always feeling this way, when I was little I loved sledding in my backyard and accepted the fact that seasons happen and didn't complain about that fact.  I decided something must of happened sometime in my youth that would turn me so negatively towards winter.  Then this memory came to mind.

When I was in 4th grade and my sister Michele was in kindergarten, I was given the great responsibility of picking up my sister from her classroom and we would walk home together.  Our walk home was quite the ascent up a big hill.  (If I was 80 years old it would be up hill both ways, but I'm not to that point yet.)  One wintry afternoon Michele and I were making our usual walk home.  It had snowed earlier that day and the snowdrifts were very high, at least they were to my 9-year-old self (but I do have to add that I was a tall 9-year-old.)  When we were about halfway up the hill I saw a big snowplow coming up behind us.  We just so happened to be on the section of the hill where the sidewalk had ended.  The snowplow was coming closer and not wanting to get hit, my little sister and I climbed up into the snowdrifts on the side of the road, which I remember being about waist deep.  In such a position, both my sister and I were partially encased in crusty, icy snow and couldn't escape what was about to come upon us.  As the snowplow came next us to the driver pressed whatever button or pulled whatever knob that sprayed rock salt out on to the road.  He drove close enough that he pelleted us with rock salt.  (Despicable, isn't it!?)  Then once he had passed us, he turned off the spraying of salt and continued on his way.  Luckily we had our winter coats on, so it didn't do any real damage.  I don't really remember us crying, but I do remember being in a bit of disbelief that anyone would do that to two little girls like us.  (Hey Shel, do you remember this?)

So, I've decided after all these years, this experience has embedded itself into my brain and grown into the dislike of winter I have today.  (Isn't self psycho-analysis fun?)  And all of this is because of a cranky snowplow driver.  I hope his snowplow has broken down.  The end.