Today, I Shoveled Snow

Here’s another story that I first wrote several years ago. I thought it was worth reposting in view of this winter’s weather. Enjoy!

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow…” RW Emerson

Today, I shoveled snow. Yesterday, I shoveled snow. And the day before that, I shoveled snow. It’s winter in western New York and we live with a steady diet of snow

Along the winter shores of Lake Ontario, steady snowfalls are the norm and removing it is more than a daily ritual. It’s a right of passage for youngsters and an absolute necessity for adults who get up, get out and get to work. Commerce doesn’t stop for weather, here.

Growing up in central Massachusetts, where measureable snowfalls also were a common occurrence, kids there learned to shovel at an early age, too. It was not an option in a blue collar neighborhood where dads had to be at work early and on-time.

All able bodied males in the house, young or old, manned shovels, clearing driveways and walks to help get workers on their way. Plow service and snow blowers were an unaffordable luxury for most families.

All that was heard on eerily quiet, ‘three decker’ lined streets the morning after a nor’easter, was the scraping of metal shovels over frozen pavement, and dry, fluffy snow squeaking underfoot with each twist of our black buckled boots. The task of finishing a job fell to the young school boys with nothing but time on their hands. Time and energy.

Snow shoveling is a low skill task, even the tools are simple and aptly named, ‘shovels’.  Bend, scoop, lift, toss, use your legs not your back. But those weren’t instructions my dad gave. He was more direct, knowing that I could figure out the mechanics, myself.

“I expect this driveway and sidewalk shoveled by the time I come home from work”, he announced, without mentioning my name or even looking at me. It was understood whom he was addressing, the skinny kid and the only one left home after he and big brothers went to work.

My dad’s directives were always clear and concise. The fewer the words, the stronger the message. Besides, mother always made sure the work got done, as prescribed.

And when the jobs were done, the neighborhood became a bevy of street hustlers, as I and other like-minded junior entrepreneurs with shovels slung over our shoulders, eagerly slipped and slid through heavy snowdrifts, knocking on doors with wet mittens, competing for whatever snow removal opportunities were left at neighboring houses.

We had no business plan or even understood the value of our labor. Regardless, we would shovel walks clean to the pavement, keeping tempo to imaginary cash registers ringing in our collective heads, totally dependent on the client’s generosity. Sometimes it was good and other times, not so good. But the greater lesson of work and reward was invaluable.

Now, I still find myself taking on the task of snow removal. It rekindles frigid memories of finger and face freezing days under the watchful eyes of my father and the lessons he ‘taught’ me.

One thing is certain…I can’t wait for the return of summer in western New York!

srbottch

Today, I Built a Snow Fort

* (I wrote this story several years ago and thought it was worthy of a repost, considering the nasty weather we’ve been experiencing this winter. Enjoy!)

Living in western New York requires a hearty soul when it comes to weathering the weather. Every winter, Mother Nature throws her best punch at us. After lying mostly dormant this winter, she reminded us of her mood swings with a pummeling of snow that stopped drivers, closed roads and shut down businesses.  And some of us thought Spring was on the way.  Ha!

How do people along the Niagara Frontier handle Mother Nature with her long, dark winter nights, and mornings crisp enough to snap the nose off your face if you wiggled it? Only one way, we take what She’s blown at us and make it our playground.

We tug on long johns, wrap ourselves in downy coats, then race out-of-door to play, just as we did when some of us still could race.

Against cheek numbing winds, we schuss down snow-packed mountains on narrow flat boards. We clamp on snowshoes and break new trails in deep silent stands of nearby woods.

Dull skates and old sleds are rescued from dusty web covered garage lofts or backyard sheds. Blades and runners are honed and waxed to make perfect for gliding over new ice or flying down slick hills on our bellies.

The brilliant sunshine on a wintry day makes a frigid five degrees feel like a tepid ten. We are survivors!

Me, I call on a time when kids were always outside, playing games that strengthened our bodies and stretched our imaginations. Today, I built a fort in my backyard blanket of cold, cotton-like snow, a dugout snow fort.

My fort today was not unlike one I built back then, simple but strong. A mini fortress, big enough for a cadre of ruffians and a cache of snowballs, just in case real ruffians showed up, as they often did. And amid the screams and yells, and maybe a curse, was the splatting thud of snowballs finding arms and legs and an occasional noggin’.

Those snow castles gave us a place to escape, a place so cold that only the energy of our youthful exhuberance kept us warm, as a pint size ‘band of brothers’ huddled together, making plans for our next adventure.

And what better place to have that adventure than on a corner snow ‘mountain’, the high, hard packed hill of shoveled or plowed snow, perfect for a game of ‘King of the Hill’.

Winter is a great time to test our endurance, to demonstrate our vim, vigor and vitality. Come Spring, we will scratch a notch in our snowpant suspenders as a symbol of success against the elements. We shall prevail!

Today, I built a snow fort. And tonight, under the cold, star lit sky, I’ll climb a corner snow ‘mountain’ and declare myself, King of the Hill!

srbottch.com

Dedicated to the kid in every adult, builders of snow forts, and those who challenge themselves in the great outdoors

To Adie, With Love…

A young lady will ‘meet’ her great grandfather for the first time, thanks to a small tin box of flies and a good story teller. She has the story teller, her grandmother, my sister, and soon will have the flies, a small metal box of fishing flies, tied by the skilled hands of her great grandfather, four generations earlier.

Imagine, a family heirloom, of sorts, being passed down, not to a daughter, nor a granddaughter, but to a great granddaughter. Not a fancy piece of furniture, nor a sparkling broach, but flies. From one long-passed outdoorsman to a young vibrant outdoors woman, three generations removed.

My dad was an avid fisherman who enjoyed making his own lures. He turned wood dowels into ‘plugs’* on a lathe, and strung eels for surf fishing in the rough waters off the duned beaches of Cape Cod. He tied flies, lures that mimicked real flies, to attract trout in the placid ponds populating the rural countryside of central Massachusetts. He was proficient, passionate and a perfectionist about both skills, making the lures and catching the fish.

I kept his tin of flies, and other lures, upon his passing, some 40 years ago, as a reminder of the man. But these feathered and fuzzy creations go back even further in time, at least twenty years prior to his death. Hunched over a folding metal table, squinting through bifocals balanced on the end of his nose, and surrounded with the tools of his ‘art’, he meticulously hand crafted faux bugs to the smallest detail.

Supplied with an array of brightly covered feathers, buck tails, various size hooks, a vise to hold them and thread to join all the components tightly together, he would produce stunning replicas of the local insects that he hoped would help him land the next ‘big one’. A reference book of flies always lay open next to him as he meticulously tied them to the exact specifications, as outlined.

This story isn’t about catching fish, though. It’s not about about tying flies, it’s about a man, his passion and preserving his love of the outdoors by gifting an ‘heirloom’. It’s about connecting with following generations to keep his story alive. And, it’s about love.

It’s very likely that if my dad was here today, then he, Adie and her dad would be at the closest fishing hole, enjoying the outdoors and each other’s company, maybe spinning yarns of ‘the one that got away’.

“Adie, I want you to have these flies. Use them to catch the big one!”

Love,

Great Grandpa Bottcher

Steve (srbottch.com)

February 2021

To Adie and avid young outdoors lovers, everywhere. ‘Keep a tight line’ and keep making memories.

And, to June, my big sister, Adie’s grandma


*Plug (Swimming Plug) – A hard plastic or wood artificial lure that is usually cast and retrieved or sometimes trolled.

The Crossing Guard Chronicles: Extra Credit & Life’s Little Rewards

“Extra credit! I got extra credit!”

The red-tail hawk perched on the overhead traffic signal at my school crossing post had my rapt(or) attention, so I didn’t hear the initial shouts. And the glare of a low afternoon sun made it difficult to see her, at first. But when I did, it was plain to hear and see a very happy high schooler, eager to deliver some good news.

During the morning crossing, at the Curbside Classroom, in the minute the kids and I have together, I announced that today was Pearl Harbor Day. Now, for most middle schoolers, that drew blank stares. Some high schoolers had heard about it. So, how much ‘ancient history’ can you discuss in 60 seconds? Honestly, I’ve learned that it doesn’t have to be much.

Franklin Roosevelt, infamy, war…a minute, to get access to their memory bank and make a small deposit. Apparently, it worked with this student, hence, the happy announcement at the end of the day, this Pearl Harbor Day.

When called upon in class to offer today’s date, my Curbside Classroom ‘pupil’ gave more than just the date, December 7th. She confidently reminded her teacher and class the historical significance of this date.

I wasn’t in the class but learned that her teacher was ‘blown away’ and awarded her extra credit.

As a school crossing guard, or just as an adult tossing out bits of Life’s good ‘stuff’ to young folks, knowing that you’ve made a positive experience for them is a big personal reward. I couldn’t be happier for this student and it made me think a bit more about the importance of passing tidbits along to kids.

Sarah Caldwell was an American Opera conductor, who said, “Learn everything you can, anytime you can. There will always come a time when you will be grateful you did”.

And, William James, an American philosopher and psychologist, encouraged others to “act as if what you do makes a difference, it does”.

In my blog, “S’amusing”, I write about a myriad of Life stories. And within the blog, I have a series titled, ‘The Crossing Guard Chronicles’, which describes my experiences as a school crossing guard and my interaction with kids. We talk and talk and talk as I engage them with a potpourri of topics in our minute, or so, together. Questions, facts, brain teasers, poetry, music (yes, I’ll sing a tune), it’s a veritable salad bowl of topics to kickstart their day (and mine), generate some smiles and help create a positive frame of mind before they enter their ‘brick ‘n mortar’ buildings. And it works.

What a great way to start the day.

One more thing, that same week we talked about trees. I stumped them on ‘shoe trees’. I have to win, occasionally…

Steve Bottcher January 2021

Blog: srbottch.com. Instagram: @srbottch

Political Signs and ‘Teachable Moments’

note: this is a revision of a first attempt at expressing myself properly. My closing comments are not meant to be political. They are intended to address the tenor of political discourse. I welcome your comments, as well.

Another election season is in the books. I hark back to my first one, the 1956 reelection campaign of Dwight Eisenhower. Summer that year found me in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire, where sun, sand and salt water taffy were my highest priorities, not politics. I was 10.

Nevertheless, thanks to the miracle of television, I got exposed to politics with its bombastic politicians, intrusive reporters and zealous conventioneers. It was the quadrennial convention season and every ‘black and white’ TV up and down the narrow cottage lined streets was tuned to politics, or so it seemed.

One week, it was the Democratic convention nominating Illinois’ favorite son, Adlai Stevenson, followed by Eisenhower getting the nod at the Republican convention. Everyone ‘liked Ike’ and Adlai encouraged the electorate to ‘go all the way with Adlai’. Politics seemed fun then with its banners, balloons and bluster, even for a 10 year old watching on television.

That’s how I remember it, anyway. Eisenhower was popular, a famous WWII general. He was well liked and had a winning slogan, ‘I Like Ike’.

Subsequent elections produced new characters; life long politicians, a peanut farmer, an actor, more politicians, and a real estate mogul/reality TV star, all running to be the President of The United States, ‘leader of the free world’. And with each election came new slogans.

John Kennedy in 1960, ‘We Can Do Better’, and his opponent with ‘Nixon’s The One’. In ‘64, Lyndon ‘All The Way With LBJ’ Johnson painted his opponent, Barry Goldwater, as a fringe candidate with this slogan, ‘In Your Gut, You Know He’s Nuts’!

Ronald Reagan won in 1980 with ‘Make America Great, Again’. Sound familiar? Bill Clinton, effectively reminded voters, ‘It’s The Economy, Stupid’ and prevented GHW Bush from serving a second term.

For the most part, slogans and signs have been innocuous, sometimes mildly insulting, but usually more funny than harmful. And the signs that supporters planted in lawns or on street corners, passively urged passersby to vote a certain way.

Not so today. Now, signs have appeared with a message in BIG, BOLD letters suggesting to the public that the current President, and by extension, his supporters, are ‘haters’. Love Trumps HATE!

Politics aside, because I’m not political, I get the message, but not the medium. A lawn sign to protest hate by projecting hate, itself? Explain that one to today’s 10 year old.

There are good places to discuss the role ’hate’ plays in politics, and in life for that matter. I would suggest the home. Discuss it often, with the family, not on a lawn sign. Make it a ‘Teachable Moment’.

Steve (Dec 2020)

For everyone and anyone with just a passing interest or a passion for politics.

The Crossing Guard Chronicles: ‘Change Is The Only Constant’ *

* The credit for this quote goes to a Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, who lived around 500 BC. He believed that permanence does not exist, everything is in a state of ‘change’.

Heraclitus was right, I believe. ‘Change’ is a force that moves us to modify our behavior, to adapt. We really have no choice.

The novel Covid-19 is an example of ‘change’ and how we have adapted to new circumstances with new patterns of behavior: the wearing of masks, social distancing, acquiring enough toilet paper for a family of 7 when there are only 2 of us, hoarding.

Schools are adapting to stay on mission, educating our youth, with different methods of teaching: in person, on-line, or a combination of both, a hybrid. The objective is the same but the delivery is different. Educators have a history of adapting, changing to the circumstances, and that’s a good thing.

Heraclitus and his philosophy would have been a great topic for discussion at the ‘Curbside Classroom’, as I waited to cross students along a busy roadway. But a change in my plans precludes me from being a full time school crossing guard this year, bringing the ‘Classroom’ to a close.

There will be a new crossing guard and the kids will have to adapt to the ‘change’, a new personality. They will, kids are resilient, and it teaches them at an early age that learning to deal with ‘change’ in a positive way can be a confidence builder.

Again, I’ll be back as a substitute crossing guard, so, kids, give a shout out when you see me. You made being a school crossing guard a wonderful experience. Have a great school year.

Steve B. (Srbottch.Com)

September 2020

Definition and Examples of Tricolons in Rhetoric

Another gem from ‘ThoughtCo.com’ that might interest you, as writers. I enjoyed reading these and will think of incorporating a ‘tricolon’ into my writing habits. But , first things first, what is a ‘tricolon’?

A tricolon is a series of three parallel words, phrases, or clauses. Learn more about this term and see examples from famous works.
— Read on www.thoughtco.com/tricolon-rhetoric-1692565

Music and The CoronaVirus

Could the Beatles have recorded the classic song, ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’, in today’s CoronaVirus world? Doubtful, fans would listen with a puzzled look.

What about ‘Satchmo’ Louis Armstrong, and his song, ‘What A Wonderful World’ with thé line, ‘I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do’ Who’s shaking hands today?

The New Seekers would not have had a hit with ‘I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing’ without the lyric ‘I’d like to hold it in my arms and keep it company’. Maybe, in its place, they could sub, ‘I’d like to love it with all my heart and keep everyone six feet apart’? Nah, wouldn’t work.

Music is all about emoting feelings: hugging, kissing, being together, loving one another. Today, everyone can’t ‘get together and smile on their brother‘ as The Youngbloods encouraged us to do with their smash hit, ‘Get Together’, not with social distancing and masks.

This pandemic is affecting us in more ways than you might think.

The Drifters might have been okay with ‘Under the Boardwalk’, ‘on a blanket with their baby…’ especially with young followers generally flaunting the unofficial rules. They would have found these lyrics perfectly acceptable.

Just think how music would have to change because people’s habits are changing due to CoronaVirus. It remains to be seen if we return to old mores or actually change personal habits regarding closeness and social behavior.

As a career salesperson, shaking hands firmly was SOP. That’s changed. Elvis would have to remove the lyric, ‘take my hand’ from the beautiful ballad ‘I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You’.

Jay & The Americans could not have titled their big hit song, ‘Come A Little Bit Closer’, not in the age of Coronavirus. It would have raised some eyebrows, unless, of course, you were under the same boardwalk as The Drifters.

No, we’re in a unique time where SOP is upside down, PSAs constantly warning us about protecting humanity by keeping apart. We’re encouraged to wear masks to protect others from potentially harmful droplets and we learn to smile with our eyes.

On thé positive side, we don’t have to shave nor worry about brushing our teeth. Our faces our covered and we’re six feet apart, if you’re following protocol.

Come to think of it, even the Seven Dwarfs would be out of vogue singing ‘Whistle While You Work’.

Who’s working, anyway?

Steve (srbottch.com)

June 2020

To all those who enjoy music lyrics and find yourselves singing daily, even to yourself.