The Old Salt was born in Dallas and grew up in the Piney Woods of southeast Texas. By the time he was barely out of his teens he was enlisted in the Navy and off to Boot camp in San Diego, California where he spent the next forty plus years. While he had occasions to see snow they have been few and short lived. Before attaching his life to mine and moving to Missouri, his last sighting of snow was off the coast of Russia while serving on the USS Mount Hood in the winter of 1982/1983.
Snow has been falling here for almost twenty-four hours now. Big fluffy flakes will fall for a while to be replaced by tiny wet flakes that seem to be more rain than snow; only to return to those big fat flakes again. So, it is not surprising that I have found Frank standing transfixed in front of one window after another today taking in the expanding winter vistas.
I stood in the background watching him and thinking about all the different snowy winters and the problems that snow brought with it in my lifetime. I also thought about how uninteresting this current snow storm is for me compared to how fascinating my sixty-four year old husband finds it. I am giving thanks that I do not have to be out in the snow tackling the road conditions to keep from missing work while the Old Salt gives me the impression that he is fighting the urge to put on his boots and go join the kids with their sleds playing on the hillside outside our back gate. Heck, I would not be surprised to find a snowman sitting on our front lawn, when I returned, if I would just find some excuse to have to go to the market for a short half hour.
I did trudged out to the back gate in my housedress and crocs to snap a few pictures. Of course, the Old Salt, had to grab his camera and snap one of me from the shelter of the kitchen doorway.