Summer Snow

As we pulled in the parking lot for Em's flute lesson, it looked like there had been a blizzard. Cottonwood trees in the neighborhood had spread their white poufiness all over the area and it somehow congregated in this one parking lot. Billows of summer "snow" blew this way and that--building up into little mounds aside the concrete parking blocks. It seemed like yesterday that the winter snows were doing the same thing--except it was a tad bit warmer now.

The Cubs/White Sox game was on the radio and the sun was just warm enough to enjoy, so I let Em go in for her lesson on her own. I sat in the car, with the windows open, to sit for a half hour of peace. As I eased the seat back, I actually relaxed for a bit--a rare treat in these hectic summer days.

I sat there listening to the Sox throw the game away, while the little poufs of white swirled up and about my car. Every so often, I felt a cottonwood seed under my sunglasses and in my nose as I watched them floating this way and that. Glad that I was not one of the many who are allergic to this bad boy of problem trees, I actually smiled as they blew everywhere.

Soon, though, I started to notice that the car was filling with these poufs. And suddenly it wasn't so sweet to see them twirling and floating. I looked and the whole interior of my car was loaded--in less than a half hour.

It was too late to close the windows. It was too late to escape the invasion of white poufs. And it was too late to do anything but accept the fact that my car was now overcome by whiteness. Sigh.

Em came out from her lesson and was mortified by the condition of the car. She yelled and screamed and made a huge fuss about all the white on her seat. She tried sweeping it away with her hand, but that only made them stick a bit harder to the interior of my car. They weren't budging--screaming teen or no screaming teen.

The real fun began as I started to drive. Like the blowing masses of the parking lot, the interior of my car was now a swirling, twirling, whirlwind of whiteness. Em and I motored down the road like a mechanical snowglobe. The faster I drove, the more the snow blew. If I slowed down, they did too. The windows were open, the floor vent propped--but still, non of the plume ever left the vehicle. The cottonwood seeds danced and flew like there was no tomorrow--all in the interior of my car.

I drove like this for a few days, never taking the time or the energy to crank up the Oreck. Joe got in a few days later and was all "The hell??!" about my car, but I ignored him. Okay, so it drove him nuts to be driving a faux snowstorm everywhere--does he get the vacuum out? Nope. So, drive we did. For days. In a snowglobe. Like four summer snowmen in a fake winter scene.