Snowbirds

March 13, 2018

A lot of folks my age believe that the best way to deal with Western New York blizzards is to quit the shoveling and plowing altogether and head south until it’s all over. It’s understandable, and certainly better than griping; when my parents wintered in Florida, a week’s visit in February was just what the doctor ordered to get me through the dreariness of endless cold and overcast skies. Stepping off the airplane into seventy and sunshine, flowers and palm trees, and inhaling the fragrance of orange blossoms never failed to invigorate me.

But a week was enough. Eating out every day, strolling through the enormous flea market next door to their mobile home park, attending the senior’s Bible studies, and doing minor repairs and maintenance on their home kept me busy enough, but after a week in sunshine, I was ready to come home to snow.

This morning, driving to Dunkirk as the day broke in all its cloudy glory, I gave thanks to God for the privilege of living where I do, snow and all. And to be able to work with such wonderful people. There’s no place I’d rather be, nothing I’d rather be doing. I only wish I had another ten years in me. God is good, and I am grateful.