Bomb Cyclone, Pink Mobile and White Guy
Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the Bomb Cyclone, I fear no evil, because I had been to the grocery store and we did not lose power. In the sixteen years Elaine and I have lived in this house, we have seen more snow, but we have never seen snow with wind and cold like the Bomb Cyclone. We didn’t open Your Daily Fiber Wednesday, because we could not get the SUV down the driveway. (I just mentioned Your Daily Fiber to get the yarn stuff over with and out of the way.)
The Bomb Cyclone brought me even with my dad. My dad lived through the “Blizzard of ‘49”. He liked to talk about the “Blizzard of ’49” every time it snowed after the “Blizzard of ’49”. If he were here, we could compare “blizzards”. I could tell him, “You probably didn’t know or realize that blizzards are caused by diesel engines and cows' passing gas.” He could tell me, ” I don’t know what you were doing in the ‘70’s; son, but hopefully you regret it.” Dad and I didn’t talk often, but when we did we didn’t always agree.
The snow on our driveway varied from three feet to six inches deep. The wind was blowing the snow into some crazy drifts. Wind chill temperatures were minus twenty Fahrenheit.
The county road crew made sure we could not use our driveway by nicely piling up the snow from the road right at the end of my driveway. The kids and I had to walk the ¼ mile driveway in the drifting snow and fifty mile per hour winds. The twins ran ahead, taking none of the stuff we needed to get to the house.
Ivy and I started to the house with arms full. Following the twins path, with Ivy in the lead, we walked a few yards. I think I might have yelled something (construction language) as I stepped into a cattle guard and tripped. With my foot stuck between the rails of the cattle guard, I found myself lying on my back in the snow. Ivy asked, “Are you making snow angels?”
I didn’t break any bones. Ivy is telling the story of the Bomb Cyclone Snow Angels. I’m just happy to have dodged a bullet. I guess everything was alright.
The Bomb Cyclone trapped the entire family in the house for the first time in years. I didn't go to my construction job for three days. The kids got a snow day at school. We didn’t open the store for a day and a half.
Elaine loved being trapped. Elaine wove on her loom. She knitted, she read. The kids watched whatever they watch on their phones. The twins texted friends. Ivy watched movies.
Me? I watched Elaine weave. I walked up the stairs. I watched Elaine knit. I watched Elaine knit again. I looked out the window. I walked down the stairs. I walked into every room in our house. I looked at the computer. I sat at the kitchen table. Best of all, I put on snowshoes, insulated coveralls, gloves and goggles to walk to the barn and feed the animals. Boy Twin came with me. We cut firewood for five minutes.
I spent some quality time with Girl Twin. I had recently replaced my “smart” phone with an insurance replacement. Girl Twin asked to see my phone.
Girl Twin: This is the same phone you had before. Me: Yeah, it is exactly the same. Girl Twin: Why didn’t you get a better phone? Me: This phone does everything I need it to do. Girl Twin: I am so embarrassed of you. Me: Well, that won’t be the last time.
The second Bomb Cyclone morning, Girl Twin lying in bed in the basement, texted Elaine upstairs, “Is there school today?” Elaine didn't return her text, “ Instead, I yelled down the the stairs, "If you want to know something from us, get upstairs.” I'm not good at texting, but yelling didn't work. She closed her door so she couldn't hear me. Children know exactly how to make parents look foolish.
Your Daily Fiber has always welcomed a diverse customer base. I did not surprise me when two young men entered the store on the third day of the Bomb Cyclone.
We have accomplished men knitters who requent the store. Men Knit. Not me, I have enough to do. Besides, what if I became really good at it? What if I became better than Elaine and Ivy? I'm already better at taking out the trash and carryng heavy things. I don't want to think about it.
Back to the two men. These men were in there twenties, wore business suits had a little razor stubble on there chins. Elaine would have called them "smarmie". Elaine uses words like that."When they walked in I heard Ivy say, "May I help you?"
Smarm #1 to Smarm #2: See I told you there was such a thing as a yarn store.
Smarm #1: I'm looking for yarn to tie this guy up. Ivy: Dad, can you talk to these guys. Me: What's up?
Smarm #1: What's the difference?, Oh yeah crochet has hooks Me: What do you need? Smarm #1: We're from Pink Mobile, we just helped AL over at REI with his phones. We can help you. Me: I have another carrier, I don't think you are going to help me.
Smarm #1 and #2, literally ran out of the store. I will never use Pink Mobile phones. Ivy, I was gladto take this one for you.
On a sad note, last Sunday as I finished writing a story, I noticed Silky Bob (our only Suri Llama) lying strangely in the pasture. After a short time Silky stood up and walked away. Ivy happened to be outside and noticed something wasn't right. Ivy yelled for me to come outside.
White Guy (our white llama) had passed away. (Before someone reads something into some politically correct (construction language), White Guy is called White Guy because his hair was white and Elaine asked me, "What do you want to name the white guy? It stuck.) Silky Bob had been lying on White Guy protecting him from the other llamas and Mac the Yak.
Elaine and I rescued White Guy from a ranch in western Kansas about fifteen years ago. He had been slowing down, keeping to himself all fall and winter. Elaine and I watched him slow down, knowing he was TOL (Tired of Life) a term used by our vet. It’s never easy to lose a friend. White Guy is no exception.
White Guy provided Elaine and the store with beautiful, soft white hair we/the store, turned into yarn. Thank you, White Guy, RIP.
Our crazy lives!