Yes I must say my wife and I moved to another state. Now we are in Tennessee.
But if I hear banjos I will keep paddling!
Is that Beer Can Chicken BBQ I smell?
Tennessee? Please tell me you had a no choice.
Actually Tennessee if one of my top choices for “because it looks right” if I could live anywhere. Instead I get to live where there is already snow. Not real snow mind you, but there is white stuff falling.
Ulgh. Poor you. I’m originally from Cleveland, Ohio, myself. I am so happy to be relocated somewhere that rarely gets snow, and more rarely has it last more than one day.
it’s not too bad. At least I have boy to manage the walks. And the drive way. And the path to the chickens. And the deck. And the … you get the point.
Actually I like the seasons. It wouldn’t be so bad of water froze at say, 60˙. That would be nice. I think. But then 60˙ would feel cold. It seem to be a no win with me.
I have never understood the hatred of snow. Of cold, maybe, but then cold suppresses insects for a while and gives the plants and critters a rest, so they will rise from dormancy next spring. Maybe the human race should go dormant half the year; we’d be a lot easier on each other and the planet. But I digress.
Snow falling at twilight, or through a beam of light, has to be one of the most beautiful sights in nature. Many writers have celebrated snow: for example, James Joyce, at the end of “The Dead”:
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
American examples would include Hawthorne, Whittier, Thoreau, Cather, Hemingway, Frost, Stevens, Bellow, Kerouac, and so on. Or the more recent Turkish novel by Orhan Pamuk, SNOW.
Anyway, as a writer I’d rather observe and praise than gripe about what comes our way. Bring on the snow, early and often. (I like Tennessee, also, but not its bonehead politics.)
I like the way snow suppresses or absorbs sound. I like to hear silence.
One time in February, in London, there was a heavy snow fall. I dressed up well and walked over Regents Park and made the first steps through the snow, I tramped out words for planes to see. I ate snow. I wrote my name in the snow. (guy thing)
A good time.
Paul
Wock!!
Why!Why!Why!Why!! does it feel good/nice to see you posting again!? Cant have much going on in my life, thats all I can think.
Fluff
Quietone 
Why dyou keep doin that!!? 
Were all used to the nihilistic, sleazy, bottom feedin, slime ball of a sewer rat!! These aberrations are nerve-wracking! Albeit pleasing/evocative /mesmerising. So stop it!!
Fluff
Have I done something right or wrong ?
With my recent (self administered) lobotomy things area a bit fuzzy. And theres no voices to guide you any more so I have to ask on the forum.
Pau;
Evidently you’ve never fallen into a snow drift and needed help to get out. The wet cold of snow gets painful, fast.
In my case, there’s the added factor that I biologically have little cold tolerance, and what little I have is diminishing and will eventually be gone. (Side effect of my genetic condition.) My mother was frostbitten as a child, so if her feet get cold, she has terrible pain through to the bones that’s difficult to relieve.
I’ve never been to Tennessee, so I can’t comment on that topic, sorry. 
It isn’t the snow that I dislike (actually one of the reasons I think I am staying here). It is the brutal cold and the extreme danger it presents. Up here (by the giant pond) you can literally disappear into a blizzard that is only .5 mile long. Folks don’t have the common sense to slow down when the roads are icy or snow covered. Walking to the barber shop is dangerous even, as few people these days will take the time to shovel out the sidewalks (who walks anyway?). That trodden snow turns into very hard ice with lots of edges that will leave you bleeding if you fall.
If I could pass the winter without going outside except for the required snow ball fights, cross country skiing, walks in the woods, I would have very little to actually complain about. Getting hit by some 30ish makeup applying to-late-to-think-of-safety soccer mom or dad BECAUSE YOU ARE DRIVING 5 MPH UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT gets old.
Snow brings the dread of the inevitable stupidity of idiots. Hence I dread the return of the snow.
You STILL sound like the kid who was given too much free time in class. “Inevitable stupidity of idiots” ?? Wow, I hope you never need a blood transfusion or a little help getting pulled out of a snow drift. You need some happy therapy. I recommend a daily hour of watching Mr. Bean tapes. 
- I once attended a party, at a house, situated on high ground at one end of Lough Gill, Co Sligo Ireland. lookaroundireland.com/scenic … ghgill.htm
It was wintertime, and freezing. The resultant frost causing fallen snow to sparkle where ever there was light to be reflected back. It was dark when we arrived.
After a respectable length of time (long enough to be well on the way to becoming rat-arsed), the host ushered all of us (ten or twelve), into the main sitting room. He bid us all, “Face that way!” So! We all stood looking at an expanse of curtained wall, some 18ft wide by 8ft high. He turned out all the lights! After the inevitable cretinous cries of, “Whoaa!”s, and, “Let the orgy begin!”ish rubbish, from the assembled ranks of intelligentsia, the host drew back the curtains. Apart from the audible intake of breath from a few member of the assembled, for the first few seconds… silence. Then a short lived cacophony of superlatives ensued, as well as: invocations to two thirds of the, ‘Holy Trinity’, one or two to the mother of youngest Trinity member; entreaties by some, to no one in particular, encouraging fornicative activity, before, once more, silence…total silence. Quietone would`ve been in Heaven
From our vantage point, high above the snow encrusted wooded escarpment (to the fore and to the side), we looked out over the most astonishingly beautiful vista. It was literally, breath taking…literally! Thats not a cliché...its simply a statement of fact.
It was a cloudless night, and the moon was almost full. Virtually the whole of the glacially formed valley, with the Lough and its snow covered, wooded shoreline lay before us. Twas bathed in brilliant moonlight, and the effect was absolutely stunning. The scene must`ve been laser-etched onto my retinae. I just can``t forget it. It was truly magical.
Of course, the image was a purely transitory one, just the work of Mother Natures most skilful camouflage experts. Snown`Moonlight. 8) But astonishing, and unforgetable nonetheless.
Take care
Vic
Cheers, Vic. You never fail to surprise and delight. I’m packin’ me bags for Sligo.
@ Dee: I’m sorry to learn about your problems with the cold. I have a friend who suffers from neuropathy in his legs; he has symptoms similar to yours. If possible, get thee to a hot tub, early and often.
On falling into snow drifts: my father often told a story of a giant November snowstorm in Minneapolis. The snow came in around 10 am and was piling into waist-high drifts by dark. He rode a streetcar to his regular stop, a small park that he enjoyed crossing at twilight. The sidewalk curved here and there, and often the land fell away on either side. After an hour, he was crawling on his hands and knees, totally lost. He’d find the walk, proceed forward, and then lose it, tumbling into a drift. It took him four hours to make a journey that was usually twenty minutes. Finally he saw the lights of his apartment building and arrived home. My mother was frantic because the radio was reporting many lost or dead victims of the Great Snow. So, yes, it can be dangerous. Beautiful and wicked at once.
Mr Bean. That would be nice.
For the record, the biggest idiots here are not the traditional idiots. They are the folks that “can’t be troubled” to be considerate of others. Nine times our of ten it is a Lexus, Jag, BMW, or “luxury suv” that causes the accidents. The folks who should be setting the standard for consideration of their fellow man (in my opinion) seem to be the least considerate of the bunch. But then we start to see a bit of unpleasant experience clouding my judgement. sigh
Sean Bean. That would be nicer.
Hedonistic floosie 
Fluff
Moi? (I can’t find the smilies for “bats eyelashes in wide-eyed innocence” or “butter wouldn’t melt”.)
Loosely back on a vaguely related topic, I read “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk last year (in translation), and it was absolutely brilliant. Very memorable, which is more than I can say for most things I have read recently. Although that might say more about my decaying memory than the books themselves.
There’s only true one bean.
Aww bless em, ndamn you sir!! :open_mouth: How theell can y bring yself to eat,’ Tender beans, and little Frankfurter slices. You fiend!! 