Beech Tree News Network

This week, the mayor of Boston urged its citizens to act responsibly.  He issued the caution in response to the Boston Blizzard Challenge.  The challenge witnessed otherwise cautious people diving from upstairs windows and off railings into the snow drifts below.  These people have been snowed in for two weeks; I’ve been snowed in for just one, and the last thing I want to do is act responsibly.
    It was the qualifier the mayor added that made me really sit up and take notice.  “You are adults, after all,” he said.  What the mayor fails to understand is Mother Nature’s agreement with the inhabitants of the earth, man and animal alike.  When it snows, we are given a license to act like children.  We can chase each other through waist-high drifts, slide down hills on pieces of metal and plastic, put hats and scarves on snow sculptures, and dive out of upstairs windows in our underwear, if we are so a-mind.
    There were many things I could have done while I’ve been snowed in—adult things—but I haven’t done any of them.  I told myself I should finish gathering information so I could have my taxes ready to file when the snow melted, but I didn’t.  I could have bleached my shower, mopped the kitchen floor and vacuumed my bedroom, but I didn’t do any of that stuff either.  I did cook, however, mostly junk food like tacos and French toast; and I did keep wood on the fire in the living room—it’s important to stay toasty while watching British mysteries on Netflix, after all.
    I set up the new printer I got for Christmas, and printed off abstract art from the internet—wirelessly.  It was great fun!  My granddaughter, Sabria, and I made Play-Doh fruit pies and painted pictures from her My Little Pony coloring book.  I lined up her fashion dolls on the back of our couch and took pictures for a greeting card idea I got while seeing the dolls hanging out of the bathtub and onto the faucet.  
    Last night, Saturday, I got out my “What Knot?” book and worked my way through the buntline hitch, which will be important if I’m ever on a sailboat during which time the captain and crew become unconscious and the rigging comes loose.  Not that I would ever be caught dead on a sailboat, given my aversion to small boats in the middle of the ocean, but I could always teach classes to those who might be.  In today’s economy, it is wise to plan ahead. 
    It is presently Saturday evening, and my plans to watch the Daytona 500 tomorrow have been covered with a wet blanket.  The Busch brothers have met with some ill fates.  Kurt was suspended from the race after a family court judge ruled against him and in favor of his girlfriend in a domestic violence case; and Kyle (my favorite driver) fractured his right leg and left foot in a race at the track earlier today.  Forgive me if I don’t shed any tears for Patricia Driscoll (Kurt’s now-ex-girlfriend), but I’ve watched her in action in her self-made video “Pocket Commando,” brandishing an assault rifle and an attitude to match; and I’ve also read what one of her employees at the Armed Forces Foundation has to say about her: “You don’t want to mess with Patricia…If you cross her, she’ll grab you by the n- - - and twist them and tear them right off”  (sportingnews.com).  Being snowed in has made me less than forgiving.
    Tomorrow morning, we plan on piling into Garey’s 4WD pickup so we can go to church.  Afterwards, I plan on acting responsibly and doing the adult thing.  It’s time to shovel out.  If I start right after church, maybe I can reach other responsible adults by Monday morning.  (Note: We returned home from church to find our friend, Ron Glass, grading our drive way.  God bless him!)