Snowfall...

It snowed yesterday in D.C., an abrupt angry storm with hail and sleet and something called thundersnow -- which somehow combines all of the above with lighting and thunder to comprise a really nasty mess that snarled the evening rush hour, delayed the commutes of some poor souls into the next day, caused power outages and generally made life miserable for a lot of people.

As does seemingly everything else nowadays, the weather made me think of Lionel. I stayed at work a little late, but as I finally walked home in the dark, amid the slush and falling snow; juggling my back pack, a shopping bag and an umbrella, I thought about how excited LBJ got when it snowed.

I remembered that horrible blizzard, Christmas of 2009, that delayed my holiday departure to St. Louis and family by several days. The snow was nearly waist high and Lionel couldn't wait to get out in it, especially since he had a huge, down-filled,fur-trimmed olive Army jacket that he seldom got a chance to wear. D.C. weather does not generally feature much snow, so he was excited about the opportunity to put on his longjohns, his big boots, and Sub-Artic jacket and venture out into the neighborhood to see "...what was going on."

He'd return, simultaneously chilled and sweaty, bubbling over with tales of stranded cars that he helped push, dogs with snow over their heads, neighborhood snowmen and snowball fights, little old ladies he helped across the intersection and that rarest of pleasures in the big city...an opportunity to walk in the middle of the street. He would rant and rave as long as I would listen, about the lousy drivers who couldn't navigate in snow. And he'd be simultaneously bemused and outraged by the crazy people he saw out jogging through the neighborhood snowdrifts wearing gym shorts.

Later, I would find his hat and socks and scarf on the radiator, his boots in a puddle in the bathroom and his big coat draped over the shower rod to dry. In the living room he'd be curled up asleep in the recliner or draped across the sofa in his longjohn's...with a gigantic can of beer on the floor beside him, asleep and snoring in the bluish glow of cable weathermen and the flickering light from the electric fireplace. If I'd known then that it would be our last winter together...

God, how I miss him!