Day 276

Of course today was the biggest snowstorm we’ve had in a few years and I completely neglected to pack any of our snow clothes. I guess, when we left New Jersey on Thanksgiving, snow was nowhere on my radar. Thankfully, Mom has not yet gotten rid of Dad’s clothes. Sure his boots are too big on me, they’re even bigger on my son, but we weren’t complaining. I also wore Dad’s waterproof jacket (also way too big). I found an old pair of my snow gloves — hot pink and black, okay, go ahead and laugh, my son did — that must date back to the 90s. Mom also kept an old pair of my brother’s gloves that were big on my son, but not at big as Dad’s would have been. The only thing we were missing were our snow pants, so we went out without them and our legs got wet. My son got drenched, but he didn’t seem to care. He had fun. 

I was up super early this morning — way before the sun came up — but instead of taking my usual morning walk, I grabbed a shovel and went out to shovel the back and front of Mom’s house. For periods of time it rained last night, so the snow was wet and heavy. It took me two and a half hours to clear all the snow. While I worked, my son also got up early to get a jump on his school work. When you homeschool there is no need for an entire day off. School is in the house so you don’t have to worry about driving anywhere. Yes, I’m mean. But if I gave him the day off completely he would have spent most of it watching television and I wasn’t having that. But I did scale back on the work I expected, and even allowed him to skip writing. For the most part, he did well with his work. I was pleased. 

After shoveling, I went over my son’s work. During history class — because my son’s questions and comments frequently cause us to take a Google detour — I confirmed what I already knew, the Kosciusko Bridge was named after the Polish Revolutionary War hero. However, what I didn’t know was that nine days after the new bridge opened, Hitler and the Germans invaded Poland. At the time, there were many Polish immigrants living in New York City. The bridge was named after Kosciusko as a way to demonstrate solitary with Poland. By the time we worked our way through the humanities and science and it was time for my spouse to review some of the math with our son he was getting grumpy and antsy. He needed to be out in the snow. 

Dressing for the snow is always a project. Dressing for the snow in oversized clothes is not only a project, it’s comical. Tuesday, before putting my car in the garage, I pulled out my old sled — a Flexible Flyer. Mom and Dad held on to some of my favorite toys in hopes that they’d have a grandchild some day. That sled’s been sitting in the garage for a very long time. I wish Dad had been here. He’d have smiled to know that my son was finally getting to use it. 

In case you are wondering, a ten — nearly eleven — year old is not too old to be seen sitting on a sled and being pulled by his mother through the city streets. Yes, after shoveling heavy snow for two and a half hours, I agreed to pull my son up to the park. Perhaps I’m crazy. Maybe I just realize he’s growing up and I wanted to hold onto childhood a little longer. Whatever the reason, he enjoyed the ride. At one pointed, he suggested, “You know, if we moved to Alaska you could buy me a husky and then you wouldn’t have to pull me anymore.” As much as I’d love to visit Alaska some day, I’m not sure its a place I’d wanted to relocate. I took him to Forest Park, where Mom and Dad used to take me sledding when I was a kid. We had fun — my son and I — sledding. He enjoyed going down the hill on my back, much like I used enjoy going down the hill on Dad’s back. I only cried once, remembering Dad and wishing he had been with us today.

Back home, we wanted to make a snowman, but the snow wouldn’t cooperate. So we had a snowball fight instead. By then my son’s pants were saturated and he was chilly. He went inside for a hot chocolate to warm up. Before going in he said, “Thank you. I really had a lot of fun.” That made me happy. He doesn’t say that often. I stayed out for a bit longer to shovel up the snow that had fallen since earlier in the morning.

This afternoon, we finished watching Hamilton. Dad had really wanted to see it, and Mom had been looking forward to seeing it with him. She was finally able to bring herself to watch it with us and she enjoyed it immensely. Dad would have loved it too. He would have have a blast watching it with his grandson and discussing it afterwards. 

Yesterday, at the end of my early morning walk, I passed by the church. Mom had a memorial brick added in the garden for Dad. It says: Gary Jaeger Aways In Our Hearts 1948-2020. Only instead of the word “Hearts” there are four hearts — one for each of the people who miss him the most. Of course, I cried when I saw it.

In the afternoon yesterday, my son and I made Christmas cookies. It was hard to do something Christmasy, but I knew it meant a great deal to my son. He would have been disappointed if we didn’t have cookies. He helped me more this year than ever before, which was good considering Mom wasn’t up for helping at all. I think she’d like to ignore Christmas altogether. I can’t blame her. My son measured out and sifted the dry ingredients while I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla, and sugar. When it came time to operate the cookie press my son said, “You know, I’m ten now. I think I’m old enough to do it.” I handed it over to him and he did a fantastic job. I didn’t do as well. I had to take over Mom’s job of putting them in the oven and taking them out on time. I set the timer on the second batch, the ding just didn’t register and so they got a little overdone. Oh well. My spouse likes them better that way.

Two days ago, The Blue Nib published my essay “Adaptations,” which is about homeschooling my son out in Long Island. Having my work published in The Blue Nib’s latest issue is definitely one of the few happy moments I’ve had in 2020. I received my first acceptance email from one of their editors when Dad was dying in the hospital. Since then she has published a few of my essays. When my first essay was published in The Write Life, I felt sad that I couldn’t share the good news with Dad. But thanks to her kindness and encouragement, I’ve been able to give voice to memories of Dad and our grieving and healing process. (You can read it here:https://thebluenib.com/adaptations-by-elizabeth-jaeger/?fbclid=IwAR2HFto3jC3YPCgteRCvWpmSMrHBhNOSVyXqouS5db8irRwZcsT6WEVJHzM )