The harsh winter sun that lit the room was made all that more intense by the blanket of snow lying only a few feet away. There are a few moments in life that touch us to eternity and some are so simple, so sublime that they defy explanation. At an age under ten, I remember a winter Sunday afternoon, peering out the window at the wonder of it all. My grandmother’s living room was small and filled with a couch, a chair, a television and a huge space heater accompanied by a small corner table which contained a Bible and a lamp. Outside the window on that cold February day something caught my attention. A fragile, beautiful sprout of a flower had emerged from the snow. The bright green and purple crocus bloom was a vivid contrast to the winter snow and for a moment, I was mesmerized by the improbability of life in that unforgiving winter environment.

Sunday lunch at Granny’s house was an almost weekly affair. She would dutifully attend church and easily have a feast prepared shortly thereafter. Roast beef, sweet and mashed potatoes, green beans, the fare was simple and hearty. I had my favorites. Granny’s cathead biscuits and granddad’s honey were a winning combination, but the best treat was banana pudding served in a light brown iridescent bowl that I still have. I call it the “banana pudding bowl” although the occasional usage of the bowl is somewhat more menial.

After lunch I would often take a glass of sweet tea and a spoonful of honey comb and find my way to the television. In that same room I witnessed history unfold in the era of the John F. Kennedy assassination, civil rights marches and Soviet threats to destroy our nation. The space program was in its infancy and my heroes were Scott Carpenter and John Glenn. Oddly enough I watched news programs and political commentary after those Sunday lunches and realized at a young age that our world was not as perfect or pure as the snow that lay outside of my window. Yet in the shelter of my Granny’s house, there was warmth and love and a perfection that almost defies explanation.

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The doctor’s diagnosis was chilling. Melanoma. Cancer. One of the worst. He talked about it nonchalantly, but there was a concern, maybe a bit of fear in his voice. The health problems of late seemed to pile on. Arthritis, partial loss of vision in one eye, and daily pain in just walking. Getting older is not for wimps.
We sat together, just the two of us in his house, on a damp Saturday afternoon. The surgery would be next week. It was outpatient surgery and would likely take a long time. The conversation moved on.

Our church was having a chicken barbecue to benefit church camp. There were long, late hours of cooking, cleaning and serving, but fun too. Baptists seem to have the best fellowship when work and food are involved.

Last year, in the midst of an almost forgotten drought, the heavens opened up on the event. Soggy cooks and chickens were not acceptable and plans for a covered barbecue pit were made. The building was almost completed as tarp covered what would soon be a vast improvement. Again the rains came, but this year there was an answer.

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A heavy frost covered trees and grass this weekend. I longingly looked at the calendar urging spring’s return. Groundhog Day is even a few weeks away. I try not to wish time away, but winter is not my favorite season. I search for sprouts of jonquil or crocus. Bright, sunny afternoons are infrequent treats. February will offer a few warm days by mid-month, but winter’s chill will be with us for many more days.

I now understand why many go to Florida for the winter. As a child, I looked forward to cold, snowy days. School would be let out at any hint of winter weather. We were quick to dust off our sleds or those old round Coca-Cola signs. Those signs are probably collectibles worth hundreds now, but who could put a value on days of childhood fun. I remember sliding down neighborhood hills with much fondness.

At about age thirty, I no longer looked forward to cold and snow. Driving on slick roads, power outages, milk and bread shortages all took their toll. At about that same time, winter seemed to always bring on dry skin and never being warm. Some in my family told me that I have “thin blood.” I don’t know what the affliction of “thin blood” entails, but it is about the only thing thin about me. I always put on a few pounds in the winter.

I do have a few cold weather pleasures though. One awaits me each night. At the foot of our bed is an old quilt. It is every color of the rainbow and must weigh 20 pounds. The old quilt has a name. It is called the “Granny Quilt.”

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