August continues with some photos from Sunken Gardens in Lincoln Nebraska just before a storm and a few Nebraska sky images.
Beth driving home from Lincoln: “Have you seen the sky?”
Me: “No, but let me look, OMG, it’s awesome! I gotta get my camera”
Beth: “The clouds are really scary, be careful”
Me: “I’m looking at the storm clouds over your house, very cool”
“Oh, my, one of your cats is on the roof again.”
Beth: “What color is the cat?”
Me: “Black and white”
Beth: “That makes sense, that Thor, the god of thunder”
Can you see him, he’s to the left of basketball hoop on the front roof, a little white smudge.
Winter storm Benedict brought a record snowfall to the State of Connecticut. I was lucky to be there when I was to remember great snows of my childhood which brought back memories of snow forts, snowball fights, and sledding at Wickham Park.
I spent several hours shoveling snow in the driveway, and enjoyed it. There wasn’t a 50 mph wind cutting through me, and the temperature was almost a balmy 27 degrees with a slight breeze of maybe 10-15 mph. A vast difference from most shoveling conditions in Nebraska when the temperature is in the teens with 50 mph winds.
Bowing to my middle aged years I took several breaks, took pictures of the birds in the backyard, and just let memories linger. As I entered the “plow ridge” at the bottom of the driveway I paused.
Here was another difference. In Nebraska the street plows wait until the snow stops before getting to the residential areas. If a plow had come by my Mom’s once, they came by at least a dozen times pushing and packing snow at the bottom of the driveway. The streets looked good and passable, if you could get out.
As I paused to start the heavy lifting a pickup with a blade drove by, I glanced and nodded. He stopped, asked if I would like the bottom pushed out, and I smiled and gave the thumbs up. In less than two minutes the bottom was clear. Turns out, he was the son of a neighbor two houses down and 45 years later I meet Bobby Milton. A name I hadn’t heard in many many years. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t remember me, but he was probably 10 years older and into racing cars when I was in elementary school. But when I mentioned his Great Dane, Xeno he smiled and said, “You really did grow up here.”
He then went across the street and pushed out another neighbors driveway where a nine year old boy had been shoveling for several hours. It was a random act of kindness, one of several in the week I will remember.