Never too old to be young

She’s lived two years longer than most corgis.

Though my sweet Maddie’s lame.

Last winter she’d fly through the snow with her strong front legs, ignoring those weak ones beind.

But this year’s different.

Her front legs are tired, and her eyes now wear the same expression.

After last night’s snowfall, I broke trail this morning while carrying Maddie outside.

I gently placed my girl down in her favorite spot to ‘take care of business.’

Maddie looked cold and started to shiver, in spite of her heavy dense coat.

I was saddened to see she’s no longer a fan of winter like she’s been each year before.

After leading my shorter haired pups back into the warm kitchen, I returned outside to carry Maddie in to join them.

But I noticed her shivering had stopped.

While I was gone, it seemed Maddie had rediscovered one of her favorites rites of winter.

Catching big, white snowflakes on her tongue.

I quickly joined on in.

How could I not?

I keep hoping Maddie and I will never be too old to be young.

White stuff

When the first big snowfall of the season is on its way, I start to twitch.

And I begin to feel like a little white haired lady.

Maybe even more so at holiday time.

It seems those white knuckle commutes have continued to lose their appeal for me over the decades.

Yet like every seasoned Minnesotan I still prepare.

I pen shopping lists with ingredients for hearty soups and stews.

And then shop to stock up for those chilly days ahead.

With snow predicted Monday, my first stop this morning was an indoor farmer’s market at the old garden center.

Walking in I was greeted by the smile of a skiing reindeer figurine at the junk store stand.

He reminded me of one owned by my Grandmother.

This fellow definitely needed a home.

I completed the adoption paperwork and handed over a five.

The old Rudolph will be my winter muse with the added responsibility of holding Christmas colored chocolate kisses when my own grandkids stop by.

After visiting the other vendors, I felt burdened and still a little old while balancing my reindeer and root vegetables on icy sidewalks.

And I needed to make one more stop at the grocery for the remaining canned goods.

But this time while entering the store, I was welcomed by my old high school hockey coach in his familiar houndstooth hat.

And he’d just written a memoir.

Coach was selling them right next to the ham salad I’ve been eating for decades

I bought a copy.

Coach is a legend around here and is still skating strong at age 83.

As we swapped stories a while, I discovered the man remembers dates and details from four decades ago.

And much better than me.

I was feeling like my younger me after our visit.

Once back home, I placed the little reindeer and book next to my writing desk for inspiration.

And I stored the hearty root vegetables in the frig.

But just for now.

I’ll be pulling the biggest carrot out for the snowman I’m making tomorrow night after my long commute.

I’m thinking I may just be a big kid after all.

Wonder what ever happened to my ice skates?

Stocking up on color

Can color be canned?
That sure would be great.
Especially with temps,
Now below thirty eight.
But give up we won’t,
Since fall’s not yet here,
Though if snow travels with it,
You can bet we will jeer.
Then open up cans,
Of blues and those pinks.
While tossing them on white stuff,
Muttering, “This really stinks!”
Hoping color melts our cold,
While warming up the heart,
Because if it does,
We’ll all feel very smart.