The other day I suggested we come up with a new kind of challenge. A story challenge, as opposed to a poetry challenge. Here is my idea. I'd like to hear everyone's favorite winter memories. Where's the challenge? The challenge is in coming up with the most unique story. Doesn't matter if it's funny, sweet, sad whatever, just unique.

I'll go first.

Football has to be my favorite memory. Not soccer, American football and not just any football, snow football.

About five years ago I had a group of friends over to watch the Superbowl. (for those of you who don't know the Superbowl is the biggest Professional football game of the year here in America. Most people have big parties and things to celebrate, even if you don't like sports.) Well, none of us were really interested in the game so we decided to make one of our own. We started out playing touch football, very easy mainly just tossing the ball around. However, the touches became rougher and rougher, and before long we were playing full blown tackle football. Tackle football is great in the snow, because snow can really cusion your fall. Unfortunately snow also completely obscures the ground.

We started the game in the yard, but somehow ended up near the paved driveway. I caught the ball and was making a run for the goal, when my friend, who happens to be twice my size hurled his body at me. He hit me and he hit me hard, and I went down like a rock. Instead of hitting the nice soft grass and snow like he had intended I slammed head then shoulder into the pavement. I lay there for a coulple of moments dazed, and a bit confused, with everyone looking down on me trying to figure out if I was hurt or not. Then I gathered my wits about me, tucked the ball to my side, and made a run for the inzone. Scoring a touchdown.

How is that fun? Well, I don't know about fun, but it was really funny just seeing the looks on all their faces, and knowning I can use that tackle as a guilt trigger, even today, doens't hurt either.

There's my story, now hit me with all of yours.

TWP

One of my fondest memories of winter is waking up one day to the sound of a blizzard. The wind whipped around the window, rattling it, rattling the room. I was snug and warm under the covers, and the wind outside, although intense was incredibly comforting.
I was eleven and in fifth grade. School was hell for me. The subjects were incredibly tough, and every day was a source of dread. The teacher would question me, some hideous math question, and I wouldn't be able to answer it. Humiliation city.
Not today however.
The wind whipped around, seeming to totally cocoon the house in comfort. My father sealed it by showing up in his robe, in my doorway.
"No schools are open today," he whispered. "Blizzard."
Smiling at him, I drifted back to sleep. I slept for a few more hours...then got up.

The blizzard had calmed down, only somewhat. But there was about fifteen inches of snow outside. Of course I went out...I had to. I loved the snow.

I ran up and down the sidewalk, well as best I could, in the snow....loving the feel of the crisp cold air and the feeling of snow on my face. I colapsed in my front yard, and promptly made about three or four snow angels.

I was alone, but that was usually the case. No worries. It was peaceful. I stayed out for a good bit longer, just savoring the soft white crispness of the flakes on my tongue, my face, seeing it on my mittens.

Finally, the numbness of my toes sent me shivering inside. My mom, having stayed home from work, made me a cup of hot chocolate. There was always something incredibly warm about a blizzard outside...families inside seem to enjoy themselves a little more.

Why? Because just for one day, or even two, the world stops. The rat race stops. People are forced to sit back and see the world they live in...covered in beauty for once.

For a few days...it's all worth it.

This winter 2004/2005 has been my worst but ultimatly my best.
Learnt a lot about myself & people in general but especially my friends.

A while back (Autumn) I was told that I was quite sick and for the longest time I let it really get to me.
I didn`t want to do anything or see anyone, that included my family & my closest friends. Getting out of bed was a deffinate NO pulling the duvet over my head was a better way to deal. Bathing, cleaning teeth, brushing hair, out of the question, what did it matter if I smelled or looked bad?
Who cared?
Getting completely pissed out of my head every day was a beter way to deal.
Friends & family be buggered.
How wrong can someone be?
I look back to those dark 2 months & what a waste.
What a waste of my precious life.

I have a really really good friend & she dragged me out of the house, literally.
She bullied me, used every trick in the book, emotional blackmail at it`s worst & a few home truths but it worked & i`m eternally greatful.


It was a terrible cold December morning & she made me wrap up warm in my woolies, I could see my breath & feel the cold in my lungs when I breathed. I was so shaky on my feet not having ventured anywhere since late September cept maybe to the bathroom & back & prehaps on the `puter for a few minutes.
She took me to the town park, to talk & walk, put some fresh air into me & blow away the cobwebs but I was having none of it, I didn`t want to know.
I hated the world & everyone in it, life was just so unfair.
We stopped for coffee (I HATE coffe with a passion) so I had a warm milk & as we made our way back to her car we passed our local Church & I just decided to pop in, now i`m not one for church, wedding`s & funerals thats about it.
Do I believe in God?
I don`t know...??
I walked quietly in & sat at the front pew my friend by my side. All was still, so cold & crisp but oh so beautiful.
I could hear the birdsong outside, smell the fresh flowers by the altar, see the winter sun streaming through the stained glass window causing the most beautiful patterns on the stone floor & I could feel the love my friend has for me eminating towards me & thats when the tears started...
I was so very cross, so very very cross.
I was going to miss all of this & it hurt, it hurt so much.
I couldn`t stop the gut wrenching sobs & my tears fell & fell, my friend just put her arm around my shoulders & held me somehow willing her strenght into me. I don`t know how long we sat there for but I know I was shivering, I was so cold but at least I felt something & before that day I couldn`t rememeber the last time I actually felt...Alive!!
Eventually the Vicars wife came along & took my friend aside, I still sat quietly sometimes letting silent tears fall sometimes a lil bittersweet smile curling at the corners of my mouth. I remember the Vicars wife asking me what I prayed for...
"A miracle"
I`ll never forget the way she looked at me, as if she knew a huge secret that I had no idea about, I was confused?
She told me that miracles happen everyday but that I didn`t see them, she gently took hold of my hand & led me to the church gardens where we stopped & watched as 3 grey squirels played a game of tag around the headstones & up & down the trees
"There is your miracle" she squeezed my hand & smiled.
Now i`m not sure what I understood but over the next few days my attitude & outlook changed.
Ultimatly I had the best Christmas & New Year i`ve ever had.

Yeah i`m still sick but i`m alive & i`ll take each day as it comes.
I think attitude is 90% of the battle & for once my attitude is spot on.

My cat watches snow flakes flying around through the window. She's trying to decide which one to chase as they flutter by, just like I am, as I think about the winter stories I could tell. Growing up in the north-east you might figure I'd have a few. As I bring each to mind, a couple of stories stand out that have molded me. In this first one I learn what it means to be part of a family.

Snow Fall

I was standing behind the antique marble table under our large picture window. I must have been all of four foot tall because I could just see above the sill to the bright whiteness that had covered our lawn the night before. The snow was still swirling around in the air so that the whole world looked white.

Suddenly I saw a man up on the hill standing in snow that came to his knees. A snow-covered station wagon was parked behind him on the road. On that hill there are eight giant steps, about two strides each, between our house and the road, but they couldn't be seen.

He started down that slope, half sliding, half tumbling, until he was at the bottom, about ten feet away from me. That was when I knew that it was my father. I ducked down and tucked myself in among the legs of the table and waited for what would happen next.

A child doesn't remember all the things adults say to one another, especially when it doesn't concern them. This is what I can remember:

"Where is it?" my father demanded. "I know it's here. What did he do with it?"

"With what? What are you talking about? What are you doing here? Why did you leave the hospital?"

"My knife, my Swiss Army knife. Where is he? I know he has it!"

"He doesn't have it. You must have put it somewhere." My mother was pleading now, "Bill, what are you doing? You have to go back to the hospital."

"I'll go. I'll go. Just a minute!" My father crossed the living room, his feet passing just beyond where I sat. He opened one of the cabinets, took out a bottle, put it inside his coat.

He didn't see me, and he didn't see my sister who was similarly hidden behind the long drapes at the other end of the room. I guess they didn't say much more or I don't recall it. He soon left and walked back up the hill, falling once or twice in the snow. He was covered with snow by the time he reached the car.

A child doesn’t remember much of what adults do, but this day stands out because it was the last day I ever saw my father. He died of a heart attack only a few days later. He must have been very sick when he left the hospital to come home in such a deep snow.

For many years I tired to understand his intrusion into my memory when it snows. Was it a selfish act? Did he really want that knife that he thought my brother had? Was it a pitiful act? Did he really need that particular bottle of alcohol? Or was it his last-ditch effort to be a member of our family- To be the Dad that comes home in the snow.


This winter story is about kindness and friendship.

Cold Beer

"Have you got it?"

"Yes. It's there. Meet me in five minutes."

"O.K. Wait for me!"

Sally turned from the warmth of the school's halls and headed into the dark winter night. It was the night of the senior play, and that had been her excuse for coming out, but it wasn't her reason. Plays didn't interest her, and anyway, and it would be a while before senior high school mattered either.

She was there to meet the younger sister of one of her friends because she had said she would have some beer. This girl wasn't one of her usual gang of friends. She knew her older sister better, who was in the play, but it was something to do, and she had beer.

Metal stairs lead down from the backstage area behind the auditorium. This is where the two girls sat, a quart bottle of Budweiser between them. Now and then they heard a muffled applause. The whole town seemed to be inside because there wasn't a sign of life anywhere.

They chugged in silence, small ice granules floated in the chilly froth. When she had drunk about half the bottle and still didn’t feel any buzz from the beer, Sally began to wonder of it was even possible to get high on nearly frozen beer.

"Where'd you get this? Is it any good?" She asked through stiff cold lips. As she said this she realized that the beer was taking effect.

"It was in my father's bar," the girl conceded, "I don't know if it's good or not."

"Oh, your father has a bar?"

"In the basement, I mean, he had it there."

They were silent a while longer, taking big gulps trying to finish the bottle before they froze.

"I miss him," the girl said. Then she sat silent.

"You miss him? Why?"

"He's gone! And I miss him so much!"

The girl started to cry now, and not much of what she said made any sense. Sally knew that her father had been in the hospital but she didn't know very much about it. Their family was kind of hushed up about it. In her frozen state of inebriation she began to think that the girl had told her that her father had died.

Sally tried to console her, "It's hard in the beginning." She felt this was something she knew something about. Her own father had died a few years back. "It's hard to face people most of all, you never know what they are thinking."

Thoughts began to bundle up in Sally's mind; the cold, the dreary night, the bottle of beer, and this sad friend, it seemed like life was unbearable. Tears edged her eyes too, and before long they were both weepy.

But when the beer was gone and all the people had streamed out of the auditorium to leave in their cars, the two rose from their hidden spot feeling a new sense of triumph. They staggered together the few blocks into town, sobering somewhat as they walked.

They wandered into the restaurant in town to warm up. A group of the student actors were gathered in several booths. The girl's sister was among them.

"I see you got my sister drunk tonight, eh?"

"She got me drunk," Sally retorted, "and hey, I'm sorry about your Dad," she said, as she sat down beside her.

"What about him? What did she say?"

"Not much. Why?"

"Oh, he's going in for surgery tomorrow, lung cancer, but we're not supposed to talk about it. My parents you know. They don't like to talk about things."

Sally stammered a few words back. "Your Dad, He's alright? Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes, he has a good chance. Why, what did she say?"

"Oh. Nothing. She just really misses him, that's all."

Sally turned to leave. The two sisters sat down together as the younger one began to sob again. She tried say thanks to Sally but couldn't get the words out. Sally's eyes filled with tears, this time thinking that she was once again alone in her own kind of sorrow, but also a little thankful that she had been there for someone that was going through a difficult time.

She headed for home, and the walk wasn't as cold as it could have been.