Walking an Icy Path

This is a guest post by Spice, not the addition to the Shed parable (that's still coming).  This morning, in 3 minutes, she told me several nice stories about her shopping trip the day before.  Seemed relevant- so I said "you should write that up, I'll put it on the blog."  6 hours later...

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Parking lots in the winter are minefields. Most of the time they’re relatively safe, with just the soot blackened slush that soaks the bottom of your jeans to worry about. It’s not a problem to hang your pants above the wood stove, listening to the drip and sizzle as the ice thaws and drops onto the the stove top. You prop your feet on the open oven door, cup of cocoa warming your hands, until the red spots on the bottoms of your calves warm up from the “frozen so cold that it burns” to a nice toasty pink.

You also have to worry a bit about the people driving too fast. You watch them with a weather eye, mentally shaking your head at their stupidity. Do they think they’re in the Indy 500 as they whip around the last car in line, or cut through a diagonal space to troll up the lane the wrong way? You send them a mental “go kill yourself away from me” and continue with your life.

However there are those rare winter days when walking from your parking space to the wooshing doors of a store is literally playing dice with fate.  

Yesterday was just such a day. We had two days in the 30’s and 40’s F and then it dropped to -10 F (ten below). Everything melted, then froze in a sheet of ice.

December here is usually mild as winter goes. Average temperature usually hangs around 20 F.  People who have never been here in the winter have images of a frozen wasteland where your eyeballs freeze in their sockets and every breath feels like knives in your throat.  That’s January (historical average temp of 4°below)... And February... sometimes March.

December snow is fluffy flakes that stick to your eyelashes and make you want to laugh out loud. Some nights Jack Frost is a busy boy, painting the trees with hoarfrost, so when the sun shines in an icy blue sky, for just a few moments you live in an enchanted forest and wouldn’t be surprised to see mythical creatures moving like shadows among the trees. Eat your heart out Currier and Ives.

With the “financial crisis” right now Greenpa and I have cut trips to the City to bare bones. It’s about fifty miles away, which means a day-long trip. We used to get there once a month to stock up on items we couldn’t get as easilly or cheaply locally. Now there has to be a major incentive to go that far. More so after the Sam’s Incident. A 99 cent day at Savers is such an incentive, especially when you have a 3 year-old (oops a 3 and 3/4 year old thank you very much!).

As I was getting out of the car, ready to tackle the shopping madness, I watched the march of shoppers. A march that was more like the waddle, slide of penguins than the usual purposeful stride. They gingerly held on to luggage racks and car fenders as they eased from the sheeted ice to the narrow lines of safety dug by snow tires.

I opened the car door and sat sideways on the seat so I could slip my YakTrax onto my boots. I buttoned up my coat, pulled a snow cap over my ears and slipped on my cow hide gloves with their faux lamb’s wool lining. I was off, trudging safely across the uneven ice.

I noticed a woman. With her red hat pulled low over her nordic blonde hair and a matching red scarf and man’s coat, she was a spot of color in the grey. Her belly bulged under the coat in those last weeks of pregnancy that make women, even ones who never had children, wince in sympathy and men feel the cold sweat of nerves on their spines. In one hand, she clutched the pink, sparkly mitten of a blonde girl not much older than Smidgen. The other gripped the fender of a station wagon.

“Do you need help?” I asked. “I’m not going to fall, and I can get you to the door.”
I proudly showed her my YakTrax.

“Thank you. I slipped in the Sam’s lot the other day and was scared to death of hurting the baby.” She answered, breathlessly.

“No problem. I’ve been there too.” I wrapped an arm around her waist and took her daughter’s hand in mine and we walked safely into Savers.  I slipped off the Trax inside the store, warning her that they will slip on linoleum.

She asked me if I could wait for her and help her back to her to her car after we were done shopping. I said sure, that it wouldn’t be a problem.

As I was leading her out across the lot I told her about Yak Trax and that she could pick up a simpler pair for street use for $20 at the outdoor store.   We’ve used them for several years and they’re tons better than anything else on the market.

“That’ll be my next stop,” she answered happily.

I stowed my bags and went into the dollar store next door to Savers, where the cashiers and some customers had noticed us through the plate-glass windows.

“A friend of yours?” The cashier asked.

She was a lovely woman with the blue-black skin of deep Africa and the speech patterns of Chicago. Her hair was woven into tight corn-rows with tiny bells at the ends, tinkling merrily.

“Nope. A complete stranger.” I smiled. “I didn’t want her to slip.”

She looked at me strangely as I slipped the Trax off my shoes again.

I picked up the few things Smidgeon needed for a school Christmas (We’re too rural to worry about PC) project and a toy for her gift exchange. And walked over to the cashier.

 Bells In Her Hair smiled at me as she started to ring up my purchase.

“I’m freezing,” she said cheerfully. It's a typical northern conversation starter.

I looked at her thin poly-cotton slacks and pullover. “Layers work miracles.”

“Whaddya mean?”

I was a little surprised at the question. It may be naive, but I was pretty sure layers had been pounded into the heads of every child born north of the Mason-Dixon line since the land bridge.  

“Do you have longies on?” I asked.

“No.”

“You can get a good pair at the farm store.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Oh. I’m pretty sure the bus goes out there. If not get a friend to take you, it’s important to stay warm.”

By this time most of the people in my line and the line next to us were listening to our conversation.

“Why do you have to stay warm?” Asked a woman with styled grey hair and a gorgeous London Fog coat that looked about as warm as a, let’s face it, a rain coat.

I was surprised once again. “Didn’t you ever hear about layering before you leave so you can retain heat? You put on thermals, two pairs of socks, thick jeans, a pull over and a sweater. It’s easier to stay warm than it is to get warm.”

Almost everyone listening shook their heads no. I was flabbergasted. Didn’t they know how to take care of themselves in cold weather? These are adults here.

“Well you lose 10% of your body heat from each of your head, hands and feet. So I’m wearing a cap, got some gloves and have two pairs of socks on. Plus I don’t take my coat off inside even if it’s seventy, because I know I’m going back out. I also run my house cooler than normal. Preserve heat with clothes and winter’s a breeze.”

“I’ve never heard that,” she admitted.

I was almost checked out, so I pulled my Trax out of my pocket and slipped them on my shoes.

“What are them things?” the cashier asked.

“YakTrax. They're like chains for your feet. So you don’t slip.”

“Really. I’ve never seen such a thing. I was walkin’ home the other day and was so cold and slipped so much that I called a cab.”

“Well there’s no cabs on a farm, so I’ve gotta know how to stay warm and in one piece,” I said with a laugh. “You can get these at the outdoor store.”

I pulled my gloves out of my pocket, and the London Fog lady goggled.
“Those are huge,” she breathed.

“And warm,” I answered cheerfully. “You can find them at the farm store. It’s worth the price not to have icicles instead of fingers. Farmers seem to know how chuck style for warmth.”

After getting geared back up, I took my bag and trudged back out to the car. As I was backing out, I saw London Fog get into her nice Mercedes with heated seats. She had no gloves on her hands.

She, and the other people I spoke to really started my brain whirling. Why didn’t they know how to stay warm? Has the knowledge really been lost? Every year people complain about the cold. They belly ache, but seem to feel smug and superior when talking to someone from another place and can drop “it got to -10 last night” into the conversation.

I know that many city dwellers go from a heated house to a heated garage, where their car is already warmed up. They spend a few minutes between buildings and cars facing the bite of winter and then are in blessed warmth again. But what happens when they need warmth and have no idea how to get it?

Have we really lost skills that are so vital for five months out of every year? In the current economic climate these skills are going to be more and more important as people choose to heat their house and feed their family instead of buying a car with heated seats or heating their garage.

Trust me Smidgen the aspiring nudist hears... Put on your mittens, hat, coat, snow pants, boots, sweater, etc on... You need to stay warm... Where are your slippers?... In stereo every day from Greenpa and myself.  And once a day- why.

Later I saw the Mercedes in the farm store parking lot. It made me smile.

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Greenpa: ok, full disclosure, we do NOT own stock in YakTrax.  But I/we really do recommend them for frozen snow and ice- they're life savers, and vastly superior to the 4 or 5 other "shoe-chain" type things I've tried over the centuries.

One other point I wanted to make here- in fact, Spice passed on a lot of good information- to a bunch of people who needed and appreciated it- in a painless fashion; just by living it.