Southerners and Snow

The Pittsburgh TV weatherman was forecasting more snow. My family and I were preparing to return from a holiday visit with my in-laws in northwestern Pennsylvania. Every chance I had to catch the local newscast, I would be there when the TV was on, hanging onto every word of the forecast.

“Six inches of snow tonight,” he said. This was no consolation to me, a native South Carolinian who is naturally paranoid about the thought of driving on anything frozen. One of a southerner's worst nightmares is to lose control on an icy road in a strange rust belt city. All too easily I could imagine the minivan sitting half buried in a snowbank as passing motorists notice our South Carolina license plate and have a chuckle at our expense. I had wiped out before, and once is enough. I had memories of one particular white-knuckle ride across the snowy landscape with my father-in-law to my sister-in-law's in Ohio for Thanksgiving dinner. My life passed before me as the little Taurus passed the semi rigs around the curve along I-80 at 70 miles per hour. By some miracle we made the 160-mile round trip okay.

As we backed out of my in-laws' driveway, there it was – a fresh coating of snow – about six inches worth as predicted the evening before. As we carefully navigated the minivan through the small Pennsylvania town, I marveled that the rhythm of the day hadn't skipped a beat. Businesses were all open, lights were all on, and people walked the sidewalks as they do every day.

It's not that way in South Carolina. Here's the drill. Someone sights a snowflake, TV news crews scramble to set up their cameras where the snowflake was seen and wall-to-wall coverage ensues. School superintendents are on the phone. “Close the schools! Stop the school buses!”

“It's not sticking to the road yet, but it's still coming down,” says the reporter, clothed like an eskimo in the frigid 32 degree early morning air. More often than not, the little bit of snow that stuck to the ground or tree branches would be gone well before lunchtime. But the kids are home pelting each other with the slushballs they made by what little bit of frozen stuff they can get their hands on.

At the same time, recent transplants from the North are having fun with this scenario. Us southerners get our share of ribbing from them.

“You guys close when the first snowflake is spotted!”

Or, “You guys call this snow?”

Of course, that's easy for them to say. Our road maintenance crews don't have an army of snowplows or stockpiles of sand and chemicals like they do in northern states. But instead of arguing this point, I prefer this comeback: “Hey, it's as good an excuse as any to get the day off!”

I'm satisfied with the occasional snow rather than the winter wonderland above the Mason-Dixon line.

By the way, our next trip to Pennsylvania will be in July.

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Wood Therapy

I've been building stuff out of wood pretty much since I was old enough to hold a hammer. Never got good enough at it to be considered a master woodworker.

A real benefit to me is that building something with my own hands happens to be therapeutic. Fashioning a bench, shelf, or writing desk of wood. The smell of wood. The gratification of seeing something take shape. This is a desk I did for my daughter. I liked it so much, I built two more after that.

All of these have got me hooked on the hobby. Will I ever be considered a master woodworker? Nope.

But if my wife allows me to bring a finished piece in the house, I consider it high praise. So far I have built several small benches, writing desks for my son and daughter, and a shelf to hold videos and DVDs in the living room. I also built a computer desk for my "play" computer, a HP PII box running Linux out in the garage. My latest project is a computer hutch, which may get finished this month.

However, if it doesn't that's okay too. I'm not on a deadline, just my own time frame.

That's Civil Behind the Wheel

I can be fairly easy-going, but there are moments that test my demeanor.

Interstate highways are a prime example. They can get us there the fastest, but the same design that frees us from stoplights and numerous intersections can bring us to a total standstill, if a wreck in front of us or road construction totally blocks off lanes of traffic. The last time I found myself in a nearly impossible situation was on a return trip from my brother's house. I was desperately trying to make time so I wouldn't hit Charlotte at rush hour. My efforts failed, and I soon found myself facing miles of taillights for some unknown reason. Right away, I found an offramp and a chance to stop at a light, read the map, and plan another route. But it was already after 4 p.m. and the city of Charlotte was heading home right in front of me. It doesn't pay to be impatient.

I heard a story on the radio recently about a young woman in Seattle who jumped 160 feet off a bridge. Before she took the leap, the suicidal woman had created a traffic jam as people stopped out of curiosity. What made matters worse were the number of motorists rolling down their windows to yell, "jump!" She survived, but faces what probably will be a long hospital stay.

That incident got me thinking about the type of people we've become. Something about getting behind the wheel brings out the worst in people. Aggressive driving has become an increasing problem. Add to that more devices that distract drivers such as cell phones and portable computers, making them a menace. There are more cars on the road, and more people in a hurry than ever before.

But, who would wish for a young lady to jump to what likely would be her death, just to get traffic moving again?

Is it that important for me to get where I'm going in time? Will I bear down on the gas to overcome my inability to allow enough time to get somewhere? Will I get bent out of shape the next time someone in front of me goes 40 in a 55 mph zone? I have honked at people and been honked at. I've had people behind me flash their lights as I push even the legal limits in the fast lane.

Folks, what's the rush?

Maybe it would be better for us all to become a little less busy and clear our calendars so we can have a life, instead of rushing ourselves and our loved ones, living by the clock.

I think I'll take a walk now. If you're driving, please watch out for me.

The Gatherin' Bench

Yesterday I took a break and strolled around a historic site near home. As I was leaving I encountered someone I knew, who introduced me to his nephew. I learned that his profession led him to Los Angeles. All appears promising for this guy.
I gathered in my conversation that they had been traveling around the area, up into the North Carolina mountains, and now were at this spot, just a couple of days before he had to fly back to L.A.
He commented that this place is so relaxing, and somehow he was invigorated by the atmosphere of this simple place -- a few log cabins and a water mill along a quiet stream. His uncle maintained that this guy was where he should be. After all, there's a real world out there, he said. It made me aware once again that there are various schools of thought on life.
I calmly replied to him that I would rather be relatively poor and living in a place such as this, rather than fighting my way through traffic to some cubicle where I would work until it was time to head back down the freeway to an exorbitantly expensive home or condo half an hour or more away.