Tuesday, March 11, 2014

I'll Leave a Light in the Window

Dear John,
 
We're hunkered down waiting for the next snowstorm. We should have rain starting in a few hours, followed by sleet, then 5-9 inches of snow. During all of this we're expecting 35 mph winds.
 
I believe I'll stay home tomorrow. Jen is already planning to work from home. I got milk, bread, and eggs on the way home from work. We're set in case the roads get bad. I hope I can get to church tomorrow night. But if it's as bad as they're predicting, church may be cancelled.
 
I'll leave a light in the window.
I do hope this is the last storm of the winter. Last year the sap buckets were out in the middle of February, and I have yet to see one this year. In a normal year we'd have seen lambs in the fields by now; until last week, it was so cold that even the horses and cows weren't out. I've never seen a winter like this. There's some satisfaction to that - if we have to have all this misery, let's at least get into the record books!
 
This is my first hard winter without you. I've missed having you to do most of the shoveling. And you were better at driving in snow than I am - there are some things that growing up in Atlanta doesn't prepare you for. What I've missed most is having you here with me when I've been snowed in. Being snowbound isn't nearly as much fun when you're by yourself, and flannel sheets felt much better when we were under them together.
 
This winter I've had Facebook, Netflix, soup, a dog, and two cats. All that's been missing is you, but that could be said of every moment of the rest of my life. If you can get that hall pass, tonight would be a good time to come visit. You'd be here for the last winter storm this year. You could meet the cats, eat leftover lentil casserole, and enjoy those flannel sheets one more time. And maybe you can take us with you when you go. Maybe? I'd gladly miss spring to go with you.
 
Love you, adore you,
Joan.

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