What a difference a week makes.
Last week at this time I was concerned about MaLinda and Jessica heading for Houston to pick up the paper from the printer.
This week a light jacket could be too warm to wear. Nah, it's not getting that much warmer.
The most recent winter weather with the lows in the teens and, some, in single digits was called Heather.
Better Heather than Uri I say.
As averages do, it seems the worst of our winter happens in the first part of the season.
Not having lived in many wintry places – maybe New Mexico as a boy and Odessa back in the 1990s – really cold weather still is a thing to behold.
I noticed in Houston, the Chronicle ran several photos of frozen water fountains.
People here were telling me about kids watering all sorts of things, starting with trees.
New Mexico winters were exciting for a junior high boy transplanted from Texas.
Socorro, where we lived, was in the foothills of some really serious mountains to the west.
The golf course that belonged to the School of Mines was destination central when it snowed.
Snow often was deep enough to head for golf holes that had hills to climb before you got to the green.
When it snowed, kids would get out anything – hubcaps (it was a different time), cardboard – anything for a slick, fast snowy ride down a steep hill.
My brother was my dad's editor at the paper the family owned in Socorro.
Butch was so envious of the fun we were having, he went back to his car to find something to slide with.
He was in his 20s, and he didn’t have the opportunity for such fun when he was growing up.
Once, my folks took me to an event in far west New Mexico.
It was snowing, in the pine-covered mountains, and it seemed the most beautiful place in the world.
Later, as an adult, I had told the family about this place and we detoured somewhat to take in the sights.
You know how your young self's memories often are not what your older self finds?
On a hot summer day, this snowy wonderland was a hole in the road.
My sons wondered at what the big deal was. So did I.
They're in their 40s now, and I know they've been where deep snow is a reality – not where a few snowflakes paint a different scene.
