Thoughts on a Twelve-below Day

Twelve below zero this morning.
The outside cats
are now loving the life
of enclosed porch cats
and compete for the privilege
of sleeping directly on the radiator.
The house is toasty warm
thanks to Den and his autumn wood-cutting.
It is hard for me to remember that it is cold outside.
The sink that Den left dripping
because running water helps prevent freezing--
I accidently turned it off after washing my hands.
Ooooooops.
Two hours later,
the pipe was frozen at the wellhead.
We now have an extension cord
running from the garage
to a light in the well
for warmth.

So far, winter has been fun in first grade in the valley.
(Interesting.
I live on "the mountain"
and I teach in "the valley"
and everyone around here knows exactly
where those seemingly unnamed places are.)
Last week I took my class out for recess
and there was a patch of ice on the pavement.
I remembered the Peanuts kids
revelling in childhood ice-sliding
and, after a semi-silly reminder
that ice is slippery
and a warning to be careful,
I turned my class loose.
There were squeals of delight
and huge, toothy,
or sometimes toothless,
smiles.
The next day at recess,
we went to the ballfield.
Amid the frozen elk tracks,
kids had fun hacking up snowman remnants with sticks,
yes, sticks,
and "skunking" each other
by drawing white stripes
down friends' backs
with balls of snow.
Yesterday
our janitor Doug said,
"Hey Shaffner,  
You're a science person.
Look at those bumps.
The wind blew snow into rolls."
I could have hugged him, I was so excited.
Snow rolls are an extremely rare phenomenon.
Fifty-six years of Pennsylvania winters
and I had never seen a snow roll
'til now.  
I settled for a thankful enthusiastic handshake
and immediately brought my class to the lobby doors
to see the snow rolls.
During lunch,

Claw, our math puppet, explores a snow roller.

I bundled up
and took
our math puppet's picture in a snow roll
so the kids could see the details up close
since the temperatures
had already started on their sub-zero journey.

At twelve below today,
school is cancelled.
Instead, I spent part of the morning making cut-out cookies
for our Groundhog Day assembly
coming later this week.
Punxsutawney is a neighboring town
but many kids will never make it there
to watch Punsxy Phil make his official prognostication
so we will pretend we are at Gobbler's Knob
and dance
and sing
and wear goofy hats
and pull a groundhog puppet out of a garbage can
and listen carefully to what he has to say.
Most people are hoping for no shadow--
spring is just around the corner--
but, hey,
winter is good, too. 

A Winter Morning's Prayer

I recently read that people often have guilt
because their minds wander when they pray.
The author (Philip Yancey?) suggested that we
turn our stream of consciousness
into a prayer.
I've been trying it on my way to school.

Whoa! The driveway is slippery!
Keep Gilda away from that tree!
God, bless Aaron Adkins who sold us Gilda.
I think he's in Kenya now.
The election massacres are horrific.
Give the Kenyans peace.

Here's that curve
where I went into the snowbank twice last winter.
I would be sooooo embarrassed
to tell Denny and Dorretta
that it happened again.
Thank you for family and friends to share my shortcomings with.

Denny put the stonework in that ditch with his dad.
A local woman grew up
hiding from the communists
in a ditch during the Korean war.
Thank you for my life in America.

There's a lot of traffic on 322 today.
The top of the mountain must be pretty slippery.
I wonder if Shirley is in one of those vehicles.
God bless Shirley.

Put it in neutral to coast down the mountain--
I get braking on all four wheels
and save gas.
Give Paul and Katrina wisdom in their plans for next year.
If they have to drive more,
at $6/gallon,
gas will be a major consideration.

Stop at the Rockton post office for Mom's mail.
Help her to rejoice in this day. Me too.

I have now passed from the Susquehanna watershed
into the Allegany River watershed;
Rockton is on the eastern continental divide.
I remember visiting Colorado's divide,
when a tiny car drove up
and three guys unfolded out of it.
"This here's the continental divide.
That means half of the country is on this side,
and the other half's on that side."
Then they refolded and zoomed away.
Help my stupidity to not be too obvious.

The frost and light snow are on every tiny branch.
Luke used to call this a "magic day."
God, give Luke a big hug today.
Let him feel your breath.

There's the little cross where Marion Miles died.
God bless her grandchildren.

I'm passing the bus station.
Bus stations always make me sad.
May something good happen to that guy
when he gets to his destination.

There's Riverside's enormous flag.
I think that's the biggest flag I've ever seen.
Except maybe Fort McHenry in Baltimore.
God bless the people who serve in our military forces
and their families--
Jeremy
and Kasey
and Steph
and Luke
and the other Luke
and all Luke's friends--
and our Baltimore friends.

I'm almost to school.
God, put your hand on my family today.
Oh, and please heal that guy
that was in the accident in Tanzania.
Why is it that my thoughts are so often selfish?
What was that C.S. Lewis poem?
"... I am mercenary and self-seeking though and through...
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin.
I talk of love, A scholar's parrot may talk Greek.
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin...."
I probably didn't get that right.
Hold my mind together.
Me again.

Parking lot. Take the keys.
It's crunchy cold. I love it!
Yessss!
And amen.