David A. Schwinghammer
· Soldier's Gap
· Fisher of Men, Chapter 8
· Honest Thief, Tender Murderer, Chapter Eight
· Mengele's Double, Chapter Eight
· Bereavement Blues
· Fisher of Men, Chapter 7
· Speed Dating With 'Janeane Garofalo'
· The Cynic
· Honest Thief, Tender Murderer - Chapter Seven
· Mengele's Double, Chapter 7
· Mengele's Double, Chapter Six
· Dems Invoke the Nuclear Option
· Empty Mansions, book review
· Pilgrim's Wilderness, book review
· WWII Cartoonist, book review
· Write Yourself Into a Corner, book review
· Roanoke Island, book review
· Billboard Theology
· Baghdad Without a Map, book review
· Into the Wild, book review
· The Zookeeper's Wife (review)
· Alumni Game
· Girls Who Wear Glasses
· The Do Drop Inn
· Ode to Neve Campbell
· Jacks or Better 101
· Never My Love
· 3 O'Clock
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Why snow is holy
Itís snowing out today. Itís hard to imagine there are people in the South who have never seen snow. Snowflakes are tiny, marvelous, crystals full of snowmen with coal eyes and carrot noses; tiny clusters that make angel wings; tiny frozen rain drops that ball up into clumps and then well up into snow forts where children imagine themselves Caesars and Napoleons.
Thank God for snow.
Yes, thank God for snow. Some people say that God is dead. The remarkable aspect about such a statement is that God leaves clues that heís still with us. He shows himself in the sunset, in the night when the heavens are full of millions of stars, in the huge, rolling moon which sails through the sky with a grin for one and all.
In this hustle bustle world of ours we overlook the miraculous; a tree is just a tree; grass is just grass which has to be cut; flowers are something we sent to our wives and girlfriends when theyíre displeased with us. But have you ever taken a good look at an orchid? How can you contain yourself?
Snow is that squishy stuff we are forever shoveling or getting stuck in, especially if we live in Buffalo or Minnesnowta. Kids know about snow. The first flake they see they run outside with their tongues pointing toward the sky, trying to taste it. They look for the highest hill and come pellmelling down like tiny Mario Andrettis. The most astute put snowballs in their freezers so theyíll have some for the humid summer months.
You may be wondering why Iím such a snow-a-holic. Itís just that I saw a show the other night on one of those news magazines where a mother gave her son a bus ticket, fifty dollars and a phony address in Nevada. When he tried to call, she wouldnít answer the phone. He had to sleep in the trees in a
Park. The woman just never got enough snow.
The most worrisome part is that some people seem to get the same satisfaction out of pharmaceuticals that I get out of the white stuff. Iíll admit I have had a few beers in my lifetime, but Iíve never tried marijuana or cocaine. Whatever for, when youíve got snow?
Some say certain drugs illuminate the mind. LSD, peyote, methamphetamine (Thereís a good one). I know meth rots your teeth and there's such a thing as a bad LSD trip (Whatever happened to Ken Kesey?) Indians use peyote in some of their ceremonies so I guess thatís okay; Christians use wine. But thereís just nothing like a good snow ball fight. Thereís a reason why Eskimos live in igloos, and they seem a lot more laid back than we do.
Dave Schwinghammer's novel, SOLDIER'S GAP,is available at Amazon.com, new and used. Please check the revies. Give a snow-a-holic a break.†