February vacation 1969

We had gotten a little bit of snow this week.

Thankfully, so far, this winter has been mild.

As a kid, I would be thrilled that it was going to snow.

This meant, of course, the possibility of having a day off of school. Even during February vacation week it was OK to have snow. Sometimes my mother would send me up to my cousin's house. There, up "in the country", the snow reached 80 feet high, of so it seemed.

My cousin and I would dig tunnels in the snow and make snow forts. We would play inside these igloos for hours-either with our wishnik dolls or just reading comic books.

If I were to spend the week at home, we would go sledding at Hill's hills. There was no "parental supervision", no hovering "helicopter" parents suffocating us like the little pussy kids are today. Our parents would boot us out of the house so that we didn't "bother them". We would then find inventive ways to entertain ourselves.

Hill's hill was a high icy furrowed patched path coming downside a hill. I can still picture "Brian M" standing on top of his sled with it's mighty red blades. You would soap the blades with soap to make sure you would go down the hill all the more faster. Brian would hold onto with one hand on the reins of his sled and his other hand holding a hair-brush as he would bellow the Neil Diamond's song "come on baby light my fire". He would fly down the hill on the sled like a surf board only to come crashing into a snow bank, rocks or a tree. The patch were he crashed would be splattered with mud and blood. You could hear him sobbing. After three minutes, he would wipe off the blood, snow and snot from his face and do it again.

One year, I was signed up to go to art classes at the Mill. I would trudge over to the Mill a good mile away with my art supplies. I can still recall the smokey smell of the place. The place smelled of linseed oil, a wood stove and musty wood. It was a welcoming smell. It was a bit cold and damp but they always had hot chocolate, hot cider and hot cinnamon donuts waiting for you.

I loved going to those art classes. The teachers were so nice and patient.

Every once in awhile I can still smell the Mill.

It brings me back to 1969.