Sleepless

I just woke up and now have a mild case of sleepless-itus. It's 3AM. I have not looked out the window yet to see how much more snow has been dumped upon us. The morning will bring yet another army of shovelers and snow blower drivers out into the streets of Michigan. We must look funny to a satellite. All it could see, after all, are our hats and gloves. Stocking caps, baseball caps, those funny (but oh so warm) Russian hats with the fur. And there's always the hatless bald guy who's head reflects brightly in the morning-after sunshine. Hmmm...



I must say, though, that we Michiganders are a tough lot. Nobody likes us because we build cars. We are losing jobs left and right. Hell, we don't even like ourselves here around Detroit! When somebody asks us where we are from, we say Warren, or Southfield, or Dearborn... anything but Detroit. We even get defensive about being asked the question! Fuck off, we think. You're just asking so that when you inevitably find out I'm from Detroit, you can retell that joke on Leno you heard last night. How sad. If you live anywhere within 100 miles of Chicago, on the other hand, you are a Chicagoan. They are so damn proud of their city over there. Doesn't matter if you're from Orland Park or Barrington Hills.



Nevertheless, we dutiful go about our lives. We trudge out in the morning in pajamas, heavy coats, and hats and gloves with our shovels (a daunting task: these tiny little shovels versus all that snow). We pull our snow blowers out of sheds that should ALWAYS be twice their current size. We even drive as if it were a clear, sunshiny California day! We think nothing of changing lanes in the sludge and ice at 60 MPH. Bah humbug! Those other people in the ditches are either just taking a break or they are really bad drivers. It won't happen to me! And business must go on! The other day, during a blizzard, I passed a guy on the road standing in front of an H&R Block wearing a Statue of Liberty costume and a black face mask. He was holding up a sign that said, "It's Tax Time!" I honked. I Think he flipped me off.



Unlike most Michiganders, though, I can't say I am completely against snow. My abundance in childhood extended to winter as well, it appears. Here are typical activities for a Saturday snow storm during my youth:



1. Tie an empty milk carton to a sled. My dog Kimba, a German Shepherd/Collie, picks up carton and pulls me around yard, Instant sleigh!

2. Dig complex web of interconnected tunnels in the heaping mounds of snow. Stock snowballs in special cubbies and pretend that I am a French resistance fighter in World War II.

3. Spend several hours trying to make a chute for my sled to go down the huge hill behind my house to the lake. This would involve putting cement blocks in the sled and trudging up and down the hill to make a path. It was worth it. By the time I would hit the ice on the lake, I must have been going at LEAST 125 MPH. Again, I remember what I want to remember.

4. On rare occasions, snow days mean snowmobiling and cross-country skiing. We would buy those handwarmers and put them inside our gloves. This usually resulted in extremely wet gloves, as the snow would fall inside and promptly melt.

5. Consuming unlimited amounts of hot chocolate and marshmallows. Outside for three hours. In side for hot chocolate. Outside for two more hours, inside for grilled cheese sandwiches, Campbell's soup, and, yes, hot chocolate. Outside til' dark, inside for dinner and hot chocolate. When I had energy, there would be one more venture outdoors to fight the Nazis in the dark.



So, please excuse me if you are one who hates the snow. While you are cursing the morning routine, i am thinking how much fun it would be if Kimba and that milk carton were still around.