Ah, Tradition

The first real snowstorm of the season is a good time to ponder some New England traditions.

In weather like this, when driving to work, dress for the ditch, not the office. Several times I've stopped to help dig someone out of the snowbank, and a couple of times I've had to dig myself out.

Something about the snow just brings out people's urge to help. The time my car got sucked down on its side about four feet deep in a roadside ditch, a beat up Nissan stuffed with sturdy lads pulled up within minutes. We all just gathered around and heaved my car bodily back up onto the level roadway. With cheerful thanks and warm wishes back and forth the guys piled back into the Nissan and zoomed on their way.

Always drive small cars. People can lift them.

Another time I had to do a hockey stop into the snowbank, I was shoveling away when
a car pulled up and two guys practically snatched the shovel out of my hand. They really wanted to help, with no profit motive. Once again, when my car was back on all fours, pointed the right way, the two helpful souls just hopped back in their car and we went our separate ways.

Another New England tradition is The Freezing Bathroom. I blame this one on the Puritan heritage and the persistence of outhouses well into the 20th Century in rural areas. When you're used to a drafty shack, with subzero winds hissing through the cracks (as it were), a 50-degree room feels quite tropical. If you believe in punishing the flesh for its sinful, decadent urges, a 50-degree room probably strikes you as unpardonably indulgent. If you don't freeze to the seat, it's good enough.

Despite my best intentions, the bathrooms in my house honor New England custom. Space heaters take the edge off, but require a bit of pre-planning if you anticipate a longish sojourn. But I feel connected to the region's long history.