8-Minute Memoir: I Remember When

I'm taking a page from FoxyJ and doing the 8-minute memoir thing. I might do it daily or a few times weekly. I haven't decided yet. But I need write with more focus. I think it's healthier. And I might discover some things about myself that I need to know. Day One topic is "I remember when." This topic causes millions of memories to race through my brain which reminds me that I am old enough to have millions of memories.

I remember when winter meant at least four feet of snow which meant sledding every Saturday morning. We had to get up early, before the sun melted the top crust. My mother used to say we had to come home as soon as the sun rose above the mountains or the snow would become so soft we'd slide into it and be buried alive. She often made dire predictions about about our ultimate demise, but I believed this one.

So we'd rise as soon as dawn began. We weren't the family who had snow pants and sweaters for everyone. Our outdoor clothing was chosen from a bag of cast-offs sent to us from relatives for our "chore clothes," which simply meant we could wear them in the barn and to work on the farm without worrying that they might get stained or torn. The clothes might or might not fit, they were years out of date, and we loved them.

We began with wool socks and thermal underwear borrowed from my father, giggling about the way they bunched and bagged, then layered t-shirts and sweaters on the top and sweats on the bottom. I always wore at least two pairs of sweats, then found a pair of pants large enough to accommodate both me and my extra layers. We helped each other put on our boots because bending at the waist was no longer a viable option.

Then we set out across the top of the crusted snow. We walked for about a quarter of a mile to the hills that were steep enough for coasting, and spent as much time as possible sliding for all we were worth while keeping an eye on that pesky sun. As it rose higher, we usually took one more ride, then another, and just one more...

Which meant we all panicked when we realized the crust was getting thin and our feet went through a little when we walked to the top of the hill. So then, of course, we would have to run, wearing all those layers, barely able to move our limbs in the thickness, only to arrive home drenched with sweat and laughing with exhaustion.

I'm sure there was no danger. Still, it was fun to believe. I'm guessing today I'd still believe it, just because.