By Joanna Campbell
Slan
Slan
Snow, snow, snow. The weather report sounds like a broken
record. As I write this, the Boston area is bracing for yet another blizzard-like blast,
adding more flakes to the growing mountains of white fluff.
record. As I write this, the Boston area is bracing for yet another blizzard-like blast,
adding more flakes to the growing mountains of white fluff.
Even though I now live in Florida, I remember those winter days “up yonder” when we could get out
the front door because the snow was piled up high. I can still hear the sound of a snow shovel scraping the concrete of our walk. My nose prickles to the smell of the diesel fumes that wafted
over the neighborhood as husbands vroom-vroomed from behind their snow blowers.
And I’ll never forget how my son would send up a cheer at the words, “Snow day!” Meanwhile, I would groan,
wondering, “How am I going to keep him busy?”
the front door because the snow was piled up high. I can still hear the sound of a snow shovel scraping the concrete of our walk. My nose prickles to the smell of the diesel fumes that wafted
over the neighborhood as husbands vroom-vroomed from behind their snow blowers.
And I’ll never forget how my son would send up a cheer at the words, “Snow day!” Meanwhile, I would groan,
wondering, “How am I going to keep him busy?”
So I used these memories in my newest book
