We are currently experiencing an Arctic Blast that is not so unlike past ones. Central LA has been blasting occasional winter cold spurts every five or so years since its God spoke it into existence. Our citizens make the most of it, shaking and shivering at the very thought, and purchasing every loaf of bread and container of milk between here and Alexandria; not to mention, creating unique and regional ways to enjoy the icy country roads and the sleet or ‘snowfall’ that measures in tenths of an inch increments. It brings back warm memories and ignites new levels of creativity in our humble country intellect.

I speak of our weather ingenuity with great respect. While our friends north of Shreveport take winter weather with a grain of salt, we relish it, preparing for blizzard level conditions when the temps drop below 32 degrees, and the clouds spit two drops of rain. Snow flurries are indicative of hazardous weather around these parts, and we immediately start wrapping our water pipes with whatever we can find and keep the tap water dripping so those pipes don’t freeze during the frigid temps. The way we see it, a person must be prepared.

During one of the last winter hazards, the electricity went out for several days and due to my stepmom being hospitalized, my daddy had to stay with us. We have a gas fireplace that heats quite well even without other sources of heat. I was concerned about him being cold at night because his bedroom was located upstairs away from the toasty fire. I lie not when I tell you I piled the covers eight quilts high on top of him while he lay there still as a statue with his knit cap on his head. He couldn’t even roll his toe over. All I could see was his breath freezing in tiny droplets as he gasped for breath, his nose barely above cover level. I’m happy to report he survived the night without a single suggestion of frostbite.

Then there’s our uniquely rural forms of outdoor entertainment. A few years back during an Arctic Blast, my husband cranked up the old jeep, tied the family boat behind it and pulled the grandkids and a few adults up and down the iced over asphalt that constitutes our neighborhood road. We had a high-ho time filled with laughter and daring, and I have the pictures to prove it. Where else could one live it up in the middle of an ice crisis such as we did? Nowhere.

Past ‘blizzards’ have created icesloped hills with my once young sons escalading down them on cardboard sleds. Before that, during the ice storms of my childhood, wherein we were without electricity for up to two weeks or more, we made winter ‘boots’ and gloves out of layers of old socks covered with Bunny bread bags. All the food in the freezers ruined as generators were not available and you could see your breath outside and inside of the house. We didn’t care, we just backed up to those old butane heaters that hung on the wall and steamed the cold right out of our bodies. Now you can’t beat that kind of fun with a stick!

I have faith we’ll all survive this year’s winter assault and create new and glorious memories and stories our grandkids can tell their kids. It’ll all be over in a day or two and we’ll be back to sunshine and warmer temperatures, and the grocery store shelves will be full of bread and milk again; that is until the next time the temperature falls below 32 degrees and the clouds change colors and suggest a cold front.