Cold toes and fingers, slippery walks and the thrill of zooming down a hill on a sled or garbage can lid. Those are the memories I have of the rare ice storms and snows growing up in suburban Atlanta. There was no way you could have kept us inside on those days.
I can visualize the scene and the faces of the neighbor kids as we enjoyed a snow day.
The same is true for the Blizzard of 1993 when we took the kids out into the frozen wonderland to enjoy the slipping and sliding.
There was no way you could have kept us inside on those days.
Since the kids have grown up, my memories of snow and ice come from the TV coverage of the event. They overlap some: the ’93 scenes in my head include visions of a near-whiteout as seen through the window, and the image of a local TV new reporter (WSB’s Joyce Oscar) reporting for several days from a north Georgia mountaintop lodge because the roads were impassable.
Last year we pulled the sled out and tried zipping down the hill. It worked once, but the recovery time for bruises and strained muscles doesn’t make it worthwhile for this time around.
Watching the ice and snow on TV from the vantage of my easy chair makes much more sense nowadays. I guest that’s why one snow day a year is enough for me.
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