Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m a guy. Despite that, someone sent me a “Happy Mother’s Day” e-mail. I thought it might be some kind of joke, but I wasn’t certain, because it seemed legit. It was an e-card, and had a link to the actual greeting. Before I clicked on the link, I called my wife in to see what she thought. She cut through all the red tape.
“Maybe it’s for me.”
Of course, that had to be it. One of our cousins or someone sent her an e-greeting. Since all our e-mail came to my e-mail address, whoever sent it had simply addressed it to me, but it was for her. She clicked the link. Four minutes later, my computer was stone, cold dead.
It’d been nailed by a computer virus…a worm. By chance, I’d run a complete system backup the night before. So the whole thing was an inconvenience, not a disaster. But the implications of what had happened were far more serious. The virus was a harbinger of what was to come. It was Mother’s Day, and I was in for it!
The day had started off innocuously enough. I awoke very early and went out to get my lovely wife and mother to my children a bouquet of roses. I brought the flowers home, set them out in a vase and signed the card I’d found earlier in the week. Then I called my grandsons into the room and had them sign the card I’d found for them. Sending them off to surf the cartoon network games, I made a pot of coffee and waited for my queen to awaken.
It didn’t happen very quickly. About two hours and a second pot of java later, she emerged, bleary-eyed-but-beautiful from our bed-chamber and shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and radiant. I poured her a cup of coffee, made her put her feet up and gave her the Sunday paper. She loved the flowers, adored the card and gave me the kiss I live for. Then I took my leave and retired to the bathroom to return the first pot of coffee to the environment.
When I finished up, I went to check my e-mail on the way back out to the family room, and that’s when the day began to go downhill. But you know that part already. I asked Char what she’d like to do for her special day. I already knew that our son was coming out in a couple of hours to spend the day with us.
Before she had much time to consider the question, the phone rang. It was our daughter calling to wish mom a happy Mother’s Day. I knew this would be a protracted call, so I sat down to read the paper and perhaps find something that might interest her. But on Mother’s Day, not much happens that isn’t a brunch…and it was going on noon and I knew she wouldn’t want to eat brunch anyway. So, I retired to my office and restored my computer. About halfway through, the phone call ended, Char came into the room and spoke the words that would send a chill up and down my spine.
“You know, I’d like to just be by the ocean.”
“Honey, it’s going to be a high of about 60 degrees today. And that’s like in Palm Springs.”
“Oh it won’t be so bad. We can relax and the boys can run off some steam.”
“It’s your day. I’ll get the parkas.”
“You just get shaved.”
So, I retired to the bathroom, took my electric shaver from the cabinet and began to shave. I was about halfway through my beard, when the battery on the shaver died, pinching my whiskers. I stood there in pain, trying to figure out how to get my shaver off my face. It just dangled there, painfully yanking on my chin. So I had to disassemble it, get it off and re-assemble it. I finished the shave with my regular razor. And before you ask, yes, I nicked myself…twice.
When I emerged from the bathroom, pieces of toilet paper stuck to little spots of blood, my grandson asked my why I’d painted my face. I sent him to his room to pick up his toys so I wouldn’t have to explain to a five year old how I’d carved myself up. That always works because he never puts them away without being asked. When Char saw me, she asked a similar question. I couldn’t send her to her room, so I just crabbed about old razor blades and scurried away.
Eventually, the blood clotted and the bits of paper could be removed. I did so promptly. My wife asked me to get dressed, and I wondered aloud whether I should wear jeans or just stand in the freezer. She said that I could do what I wanted, but that shorts would probably be all I’d need. So, I took the longest pair of cargo shorts I had and stuffed the pockets with tissues to insulate myself…and my camera. Meanwhile, Char was pressing off a pair of long pants for herself. It was her day, so I chose not to ask her why she wanted me to die from hypothermia of the lower extremities. When she wasn’t looking, I slipped a sweatshirt into the car.
Our son arrived, dressed kind of like me and we all piled into the car for the trip across the tundra, to the beach. Char had packed sand toys, cold drinks and some large towels. The outside thermometer on the car read eleven degrees. Or maybe it was seventy seven, but as we headed toward the coast, the numbers declined steadily.
Soon, we were trapped in a line of cars, while a snow plow cleared a path to the water. I think it was a snow plow. Maybe it was a skip loader. But either way, we sat in heavy traffic while the outside temperature plummeted. Along the way, Char decided we should get some lunch before we got sandy at the beach. We found a delightful Mexican restaurant. They were busy, so we accepted patio seating. There were heaters all over the patio. Ours didn’t work. Thank God the salsa was hot. It was all we had to warm ourselves. I was surprised they didn’t serve the guacamole in sugar cones, eating as we were, outside the igloo.
We arrived at the beach. It was pretty much deserted. Those who had braved the blizzard were already retreating to the warmth of their cars and snow cats. The cloud cover was so thick that the sun looked like the moon…only dimmer. Opening the car doors against the hurricane force winds, we all bundled up with any and all clothing we could find. For Char, it was a denim jacket; for Dave and me, sweatshirts. The boys were madder than the March hare and were happy in shorts and surfing shirts. I think they had anti-freeze in their pouch drinks. There’s no other explanation.
We hauled out the sand chairs and looked for a spot where the snow was packed down so we wouldn’t sink in. The boys ran directly to the water and splashed in, just dodging a passing iceberg.
We just sat there, shivering under brightly colored beach towels, soaking up the cloud cover. I complained about the cold, a lot. But I was justified. The chill was making the blood in my extremities rush to my body's core. I was beginning to hallucinate. David said I should pull the towel up over my mouth. Char said I should pull it up over my entire head. I countered that I can’t see how that would make me any warmer. She said that it wouldn’t, but that it would muffle my crabbing. Touché!
The boys, insane as ever seemed oblivious to the weather conditions. Then, a seagull flew past, flapping furiously into the wind, beak chattering. As icicles began to extend from our ears, and ocean spray ice crystals formed on our sunglasses, even my hardy companions began to admit that we were in a weather pattern usually reserved for the arctic. My wife said we'd give the boys a few minutes more to play and then head for home. Shortly, a Penguin waddled by. I figured that we might have to dig the car out of a snow drift and it was a shame that we'd left the sand toys inside it.
Then, through the hypothermia-induced near coma, my eyes could just barely make out the form of a Polar Bear. It stood semi-erect on an elongated ice floe. It was drifting towards shore. No! It was surfing towards shore on a breaker. It was heading directly at the boys! They were the closest things to seals for miles around and that bear looked hungry. They were in mortal danger! Just as the wave was about to break ashore, a downdraft measured at, at least, minus 100 degrees, froze the wave solid, trapping the bear. We scooped the boys out of the water and packed up to leave. By then the lifeguards, wearing the familiar white cross of the ski patrol were closing down the beach.
When we reached the parking lot, the car was, thankfully, not buried in snow. I was so happy to see it, I kissed it. Bad idea. My lips froze to the windshield. It took five minutes of idling engine and defroster to warm it up enough to set me free.
We rode home in silence, broken only by the chattering of teeth. As we departed the coast and headed inland to warmer climes, Char observed that the moon was out. David pointed out that it wasn't the moon, but the sun, as seen through thunderheads.
Since it was still Mother’s Day when we arrived at home, I filled the tub for my beloved and let her soak away the chill while I showered the boys in the other bathroom.
Today, I dropped the boys at school and realized that, the car is full of sand. I’ll have to vacuum it later. Maybe I’ll do it a lot later. I still don’t have much feeling in my extremities. I need some time for the frostbite to heal.
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