Let it snow!

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . January 7, 2010 . 5:53PM

In Tennessee, we rarely experience snow. Our weather doesn’t fluctuate often and this week we experienced our most extreme temperatures as they dropped down to single digits. Luckily, this happens, at most, once or twice a year. We may get snow 2-3 times a year. As I grew up in Illinois, snow doesn’t bother me and I am fine with driving on ice, black ice, freezing rain and snow.

People from Tennessee do not share this sentiment with me.

In fact, I would say that the term that applies to the fine folks here is “scared to death of snow and ice.” Last night, before a single flake of snow had fallen or flurried, the mere thought of snow had schools cancelled. This is how it has been here for the duration of the time I’ve lived here.

Schools have been cancelled tomorrow due to the threat of refreezing. Logically, I understand this. There are plenty of winding roads and hills and valleys here. Buses cannot safely travel them and if you can’t get kids to school safely, school should be cancelled.

What I don’t understand is the mad rush to the grocery stores to buy necessities? At most, the snow will last one day. I don’t know of anyone that doesn’t have a days worth of food in their home. Those that don’t have food don’t have the funds to mad rush Kroger.

When I lived in rural Arkansas, storms knocked the power out for days and it couldn’t be restored. They had a genuine reason for fear. In the Metro Nashville and surrounding areas, we generally don’t experience this phenomenon.

I’m not knocking my TN folks. I love living here and the people are second to none. I’ve just lived in different conditions. We’d go to school in 6 inches of snow. Teenagers, myself included, drove in it. Nothing was canceled and even when there was little heat in the schools, we went. No, I didn’t walk in 3 feet of it, smart alecks. But we did have the old school radiators and it was cold!

I just think it’s kind of…wimpy.

There. I said it. I think it’s wimpy.

I want enough snow to make forts like we used to when I was a kid and lived across from a church. They would plow the church and the entire small neighborhood would choose a side of the plowed area, dig into it and we’d have serious snowball fights. We’d sled down the 8-10 foot forts for hours. When we were done, we’d go into the house, have some hot chocolate, warm up, and be back out within the hour.

As I got older, and had older friends, we took it to the next level. There were bigger sleds and bigger hills at the park. One friend had a house in a rural setting and four, yes four, of us went down a hill at a time. I remember being between Rich and Chad and the sled tilting as we crashed into trees. I had a huge scrape on my cheek, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

Or Dave and I power sledding down what we thought was snow, but was really ice on the largest hill in the park. That was a huge mistake.

Or James and I attempting to snowboard down the hill behind his house and me biting it and vowing that I would never faceplant again because I was “never doing this crap snowboarding” again.

Or Jenny and Rachael throwing snowballs at me while I tried to get in the fort more quickly.

Or Olivia sprinkling Reindeer food on the snow so Santa would come.

Yes, please let it snow. I want my son to have memories like mine, too. Even if it’s just 2 inches of snow to make angels in or some flurries.

Facebook friends

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . December 18, 2009 . 9:43AM

I’ve never done well with keeping friends for long periods of time. I think much of this has to do with several integral factors in my life. I grew up on a farm and, most of that time, I played on my own. I’m also highly introverted, by nature, and I often prefer my own thoughts to the thoughts of others. It’s not that I don’t care what you think, it’s just that the noise in my own head is so strong that your noise would be overwhelming. I like quiet and solitude and small groups of people. I like to go out, but infrequently. My profession is one-on-one and that connection is important to me in so many ways. It fits me.

It never occurred to me that the people I’d left along the way weren’t really gone. For the longest time I was such a black and white thinker that I’d written those relationships off as lost to me.

And then I found Facebook. Because I’m an introvert, social networking draws me like flies to honey. I can speak to people quickly and efficiently, which also hits my firstborn tendencies, and feel like I’m connecting without losing the energy that I lose in face-to-face interaction.

And then I started exploring.

And found the little girl from down the farm road that I used to play with often. I road my green bike with the banana seat to her house frequently. And not only did she remember me, but she was delighted to hear from me. We still had the connection that we had even then.

And I found the first friends I had when I finally started elementary school. And then those when I moved to a new town.

I found my first group of friends from middle school. We were so close for those four years. It was like we picked up where we left off. The best friendships are always like that, aren’t they?

I found my high school best friends and my college best friends. I found people who weren’t best friends, but that I like more as adults than I did as children. They have grown into amazing people that I love.

Through other social networking sites I have found people that I love more and more each day.

For me, I think it was just a reminder that, though there are times I feel alone and have certainly felt alone in the past, I never was. They were with me. They missed me. They were there.

And they still are.

All dogs go to heaven

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 30, 2009 . 11:02AM

For Christmas, the year I turned 11, I got the surprise of my life. I’d been waiting for a dog for years. I hadn’t had one since I was little and living on the farm.

The last gift I opened said “This certificate redeemable for one puppy of your choice!”

Oh, the excitement and joy! I knew exactly what I wanted: a blonde cocker spaniel. My mother, who tends to hate animals, stipulated “this is an outdoor animal” while I cajoled and begged and pleaded.

On New Year’s Eve, we finally found him. The most beautiful blonde cocker spaniel puppy there ever was. He hid from everything and because of his introversion, I called him my little “Shadow.” Later, I realized that it was a name mostly reserved for black animals, but I was 11. Cut me some slack.

In a rule that I still think was completely moronic, I was required to spend an hour a day with Shadow. I didn’t mind the hour, but there were days it was freezing outside and this was not an easy task. When it was at the freezing point or raining, I could bring him into a shed we had in the back yard or into the garage. I remember holding him in my lap and stroking his long, soft ears for so many of those hours and, though he was an incredibly hyper dog, he let me.

My time got shorter as I got older and became more involved with school and work. I took my first real job at 15 and I had to “make up” the time on the weekends, when I could. This led to some days where I would attempt to entertain Shadow for four hours at a stretch and he grew weary of me.

As he grew older, the gate in our backyard did, as well, and he grew more mischievous. He began to break free of his jail more and more frequently and somehow, no one had enough time to fix the gate. I spent hours searching for him and thankfully, because he had a collar, we always managed to find him.

Until early one morning over the summer of my 18th year.

The phone rang and woke me out of a sound sleep. It was my grandmother and asked me if my dog was missing. I had no idea and looked out the backyard where I could see the gate standing wide open. We’d had a storm the night before and I had no idea how long it had been open. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said that yes, I thought he might be.

Her voice quivered and said that her neighbor had called and said a dog had been hit in front of her house. It had been grazed by a car and was still breathing, but it wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t bleeding, but the collar had my name on it. Was it mine?

I couldn’t speak.

My grandmother said that animal control had been called to come get the dog and not to bother coming to see him. He wasn’t going to make it.

I still regret not coming to see him. I was such a coward. He lay there alone.

30 minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. A tall man stood there and gently removed his ball cap. His eyes filled with tears and he said, “I got your dog in my truck. He got hit by a car. He didn’t make it.”

I nodded mutely and stared at the words forming at his mouth.

“He ain’t bleeding or nothin’. He looks fine. You can see him if you want to.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I shook my head head softly from side to side.

“I’ll take good care of him, miss. They don’t always take good care of these dogs, you know, but I knew he was special, this one. You took real good care of him and groomed him and everything, didn’t ya? I’ll take care of him, myself. I’ll make sure he’s ok, miss.”

I tried to smile and croaked out a thank you as the tears continued to roll from my eyes. He nodded slightly and backed down the concrete steps. He took one last look to the back of his truck, where I knew my dog lay.

I couldn’t close the door until the truck was out of sight.

All dogs go to heaven. I can’t believe in a heaven that doesn’t have them. They are the most pure hearts besides children and if there is an all-encompassing creator, surely He loves the pure hearts. If He doesn’t, then what kind of heaven would it be? I don’t want to be anywhere that doesn’t have my dogs.

Sometimes I dream of petting long, soft ears…