Winter wonderland
Such a banal title, I know, but I say it tongue in cheek, because "wonderland" does not apply when you have to shovel and/or shlep to work.
I do remember, though, when snow meant fun and not annoyance and fear.
First of all, with first frost, when all the little puddles would solidify, how much fun was it to go and step on them with the heel of my boot? They made the most satisfying crack. Kind of like popping bubble wrap, similar type of inexplicable pleasure. The goal was to get to the puddles before the other neighborhood children would. You just don't get the same quality puddle ice around here!
Then, outside my school, school # 205, there was a big playing field and you had to descend a large hill to get down into it. Every winter, the upperclassmen would dump buckets and buckets of water down the hill to make an ice slide, and during breaks between classes (15 minutes back then) we'd run out illegally without our coats and frolick. The slide never melted because between late November and early March temperatures never went above freezing. Usually, there was a tobogan, but the big trick to learn was to ride down standing up without falling. Cool upper class boys could do it, and I could too, because I was young and fearless. Now I'd probably be too scared of fracturing a femur.
Valenki, people. The Uggs' even uglier Russian cousin. The world's most uncomfortable winter boot, made out of packed wool, meant to be worn with a water proof galosha on top. Like SO:
Did not have a right and left and impossible to take off without pulling off your 3 pairs of socks, or whatever grandma made you wear when it snowed. Plus, invariably, clumps of snow falling in over the top making your socks wet, and putting you in grave danger of pneumonia, because all pneumonia starts at the feet - per grandma.
Aahhh. Winter wonderland.
However, I do appreciate sitting up at home blogging while the boys in the building do this...
I do remember, though, when snow meant fun and not annoyance and fear.
First of all, with first frost, when all the little puddles would solidify, how much fun was it to go and step on them with the heel of my boot? They made the most satisfying crack. Kind of like popping bubble wrap, similar type of inexplicable pleasure. The goal was to get to the puddles before the other neighborhood children would. You just don't get the same quality puddle ice around here!
Then, outside my school, school # 205, there was a big playing field and you had to descend a large hill to get down into it. Every winter, the upperclassmen would dump buckets and buckets of water down the hill to make an ice slide, and during breaks between classes (15 minutes back then) we'd run out illegally without our coats and frolick. The slide never melted because between late November and early March temperatures never went above freezing. Usually, there was a tobogan, but the big trick to learn was to ride down standing up without falling. Cool upper class boys could do it, and I could too, because I was young and fearless. Now I'd probably be too scared of fracturing a femur.
Not my picture, but this is what it looked like exactly! Including the communist block in the distance. More ice though.
I wish I could get back that feeling of unabashed joy at such a simple thing as sliding down an ice slope!
Plus, who can forget...
Valenki, people. The Uggs' even uglier Russian cousin. The world's most uncomfortable winter boot, made out of packed wool, meant to be worn with a water proof galosha on top. Like SO:Did not have a right and left and impossible to take off without pulling off your 3 pairs of socks, or whatever grandma made you wear when it snowed. Plus, invariably, clumps of snow falling in over the top making your socks wet, and putting you in grave danger of pneumonia, because all pneumonia starts at the feet - per grandma.
Aahhh. Winter wonderland.
However, I do appreciate sitting up at home blogging while the boys in the building do this...
The figure up in the left corner, attempting to ellude the camera, is my proud manly man of a husband. God bless his little heart ... and his little back pain.
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