There's a strange eerie peace that descends on the world when it snows heavily, even in a large city. And there's nothing like the gasps and squeaks of excitement that emerge from a three year old when they look out of the window and see the world under snow.
However, there's also nothing quite like trying to get through the stuff in a wheelchair. It's more forgiving than sand, but it's still very hard going, and even the smallest twig can cause you to wheelspin on the spot. And it gives people the excuse to park in the disabled bay outside the house. There's also nothing like gripping titanium wheelrims covered in melting snow to create the coldest fingers imaginable.
Making a snowman isn't quite the joy that it used to be. I ended up sat in one spot and soon ran out of reachable snow which also meant that I had dug a small hole for myself and I couldn't get up the sides without assistance.
So I found myself facing another one of life's pangs of sadness, as I am unable to make a great big snowman with my daughter, something that would have brought huge pleasure to us both. And it's been a while since I've had that first encounter with something I can no longer do. By now, most of the stuff of our everyday life has been faced, accepted and negotiated.
Still, at least it doesn't snow that often. And it does look quite magical.
And then this evening I got to make a snow man with her. He's only about 18 inches tall and sits on our front wall (which made him 'wheelchair accessible'), but he's got a cheerful smile, almost as big as mine.
However, there's also nothing quite like trying to get through the stuff in a wheelchair. It's more forgiving than sand, but it's still very hard going, and even the smallest twig can cause you to wheelspin on the spot. And it gives people the excuse to park in the disabled bay outside the house. There's also nothing like gripping titanium wheelrims covered in melting snow to create the coldest fingers imaginable.
Making a snowman isn't quite the joy that it used to be. I ended up sat in one spot and soon ran out of reachable snow which also meant that I had dug a small hole for myself and I couldn't get up the sides without assistance.
So I found myself facing another one of life's pangs of sadness, as I am unable to make a great big snowman with my daughter, something that would have brought huge pleasure to us both. And it's been a while since I've had that first encounter with something I can no longer do. By now, most of the stuff of our everyday life has been faced, accepted and negotiated.
Still, at least it doesn't snow that often. And it does look quite magical.
And then this evening I got to make a snow man with her. He's only about 18 inches tall and sits on our front wall (which made him 'wheelchair accessible'), but he's got a cheerful smile, almost as big as mine.
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