As the long winter of our discontent comes to a close we can thank Divine Providence that we made it I suppose because all in all it was a pretty horrific experience. Not that sub-zero temperatures and balmy tropical days changing places every week was all that bad if you were a kid who dug snow days.
I remember back when I was
a kid, well at least I think what I remember happened to me when I was a kid,
and of course the weather was far more treacherous, the snow deeper, the
temperature colder and there were never snow days. We had no buses, no hot lunches, boots that
leaked and coats with broken zippers and still we never seemed to notice the
cold.
But that all changed one
dark and dreary winter day just before Christmas when I was playing Sherlock
Holmes and stumbled upon Santa's secret stash of presents due to come down the
chimney when Christmas Eve arrived the next week. I didn't really bother to wonder why the
presents were hidden in the basement of my house in Iowa
As long as I got my Spike
Jones Drum set, which miraculously was packed in a large box though every
Christmas it magically appeared in our front room beside the tree set up and
ready to play, I could believe anything necessary to get those drums. This particular year I was bound and
determined to not destroy the drum set before Easter as was the case the past
two years. But it wasn't the Spike Jones
drums that caught my attention.
As I mentioned, the weather
was the worst that existed since my Irish Grand Dad told me about the winter
back in Ireland when you left the house through the second floor window and
were tied to a rope so as not to lose your way in the blizzard and white
out. Said he walked through that
desolate landscape and Hellish storm over two miles to school. Always seemed to me like a lot of rope to be
pulling through all that snow.
This Saturday morning my
brothers, I was sandwiched between Mickey and Bosco, and I were left at home
alone when my parents needed to pick up some final gifts before Christmas. While the three of us were each a year apart
we also had a little brother 8 years younger than me so we were supposed to
baby sit.
What caught my attention
while prowling through the basement were the winter parkas, just like the Army
wore. Back in the 1950's there was nothing cooler than having genuine army gear. So I grabbed Bosco, my kid
brother, and suggested we take them out for a test ride in the intensifying
storm outside.
There was no chance
Mickey, the oldest and our designated Archangel
could join us in such a despicable caper as he violated no rules while Bosco
and I lived to violate all rules. Thus
we decided to sneak out the back door while he was entertaining little Willy,
our baby brother.
It really never occurred
to us to take any supplies more than winter boots, gloves and hats with us
since the Army parkas would take care of the rest. Quietly we snuck out the back door and raced
across the yard to the alley then darted around the next turn and hid behind a
garage door. The bitter cold was no
match for the Army.
However, when Bosco said,
"now what" I realized we lacked a plan of action. "Let's go to the frozen lake in Memorial
Park and chase the girls," I said and Bosco could care less as long as we were free,
so off we headed to the lake.
Now the below zero cold
and blowing snow were not a problem, but the only way to the lake was through
over 3 blocks of the dense and Forbidden Forest where the deranged serial
murdered lived in a giant sewer pipe.
We had slipped past him on
previous excursions but never in two feet of fresh snow, still we were always up
for a new adventure and maybe the green Army coats would hide us in the
trees. Onward we journeyed for what
seemed like hours up and down the mountains, along cliffs and wary of the bears
or leprechauns lurking in the shadows.
At last we broke out of
the forest and could hear the kids yelling over the hill and down at the lake
and away we raced in our spanking new Army coats sliding more than walking down
the snow and ice covered hill.
Upon reaching our
destination we stopped to reconnoiter the surroundings, then realized we were
the only ones without skates, a decided disadvantage on ice. If we had no chance of keeping up with the
skaters, we decided to do the next best thing and go racing out of control
across the ice in our boots until we crashed into some likely suspect, like a
cute girl.
For the next 30 minutes we
were terrors on ice like bumper cars on rails as we were able to introduce
ourselves up close and personal to anyone we wanted. However, the constant falls on the ice were
taking their toll and my knees were hurting.
So off I went seeking
temporary solitude by sliding under the walking bridge crossing the lake and
meandering toward the end of the lake. I
turned when I heard Bosco yelling at me and he was frantically pointing at
something across the ice. I looked, and
then saw the strangest crack in the ice come racing toward me in a jagged
pattern and I was clearly the bulls eye.
Before I could even scream
the ice underfoot simply shattered and down I dropped into the freezing water
in my Christmas present Santa was yet to deliver. Fortunately the coat caught on the ice as I
sank and I didn't drop all the way through the ice. But by the time I reached solid ice I was
soaked to my shoulders.
Suddenly the enormity of
our situation hit me and it wasn't the fact I just narrowly escaped death, nor
the prospect that I still might freeze to death before we could get back
through the woods and get home. No, it
was the fear of the consequences of my parents discovering I found Santa's
present and then ruined it a week before Christmas.
Soaking wet in below zero
weather Bosco and I set off into the Forbidden
Forest
Once again my resourceful
brother had an idea, we would build a fire, strip off my wet coat and pants and
dry them. He said I was starting to turn
blue. Of course, my kid brother was genetically
born an arsonist and was nicknamed "pyro" because of his magical
ability to set anything and everything on fire.
While I stood frozen in
place he piled branches and whatever else he could find next to me and in
minutes a fire roared through the forest.
Soon my coat melted enough to get it off and then came the pants and I
can tell you in spite of standing near naked in below zero snow it was heaven
sent. I rotated to thaw out while he
held the coat next to the flames.
The pants dried quickly
but a down filled coat was another matter.
Soon it was obvious we would never get it dry and back into the package
in the closet, still about 30 minutes away, before the parents got home. Again the pyro had an idea, let the fire burn
down and we would throw it on the hot coals to speed dry.
Something told me it was
not a good idea but desperation was setting in so onto the coals Bosco tossed
the coat, the inside of the coat facing down in case there was a problem. About two minutes later smoke seeped out
around the edges of the parka. Another
couple of minutes and a lot of smoke seeped out.
I grabbed the coat and
threw it over my shoulders and it felt damp but warm so off we headed to beat
my parents home. We made it with time to
spare, but not nearly enough time. When
we crashed through the back door there was Mickey and the first thing he yelled
was where did we get the new coats? The
second was what is that awful smell of smoke?
When I pulled off the
parka things were even worse than the smell.
The inside of the coat was covered with black soot from the fire. There was no way to explain a coat from Santa
covered with black soot.
Now fast action was required. Right beside the back door in the kitchen was
the washer and dryer. My only hope for
getting out of a terrible mess was to wash the coat and get it back to the
basement.
Bosco and I fumbled around
to get the front door of the washer open and tossed in the coat. I pulled over a chair and climbed up on the
machine to try and figure out what all the buttons did while Bosco went for the
detergent. Mickey was simply hysterical.
Unbeknownst to me, Bosco
was as clueless about the soap as I was about the controls and by the time I
hit the right button to bring it to life he had dumped an entire box of
detergent into the little chute on the front door.
As the machine filled with
water and started to rotate the parka we left the room to clean up then raced
back to check the progress. Rounding the
corner to the kitchen something dreadful was going on. Soap suds were pouring out the spout on the
front door. A huge mountain of suds
nearly three feet tall were moving across the kitchen floor as suds continued
to cascade out the spout.
"Holy shit!" was
the only thing I could hear as Mickey stood in the doorway paralyzed while
Bosco and I set off sliding through the mountain of suds toward the
washer. As I fumbled with the controls
there was no way I was going to get it shut off so Bosco did the only thing
left, he jerked open the front door to stop the washer.
The waterfall of suds
became an avalanche as the bubbling contents in the machine dumped out flooding
the entire kitchen. Bosco and I could be
heard laughing from somewhere under the mountain of suds as we realized defeat
and figured we should enjoy the last few moments before the parents got home
and sent us to reform school.
In the midst of our
capitulation the back door opened, there was a shriek from our mother, and the
rest of the afternoon became a blur as we cleaned every last sub from that
house. Our punishment was I was stuck
with a new parka with burn marks all over the inside for the rest of the winter.
That was my last winter of
discontent before this year.
.
