2.12.10

Dad,
I can't believe how much it snowed today. If you were here I would ask you if this was the most snow you'd ever seen in Texas knowing that you'd probably talk about the Winter of '89. I remember that winter, you know? I got stuck outside with one glove missing and cried. But if you were home now I'd ask you anyways and tell you not to go to the office even though you'd probably try to go anyways once the snow melted off a bit. Today would have been your 66th birthday and it will be snowy just like the day you died. I wonder if it means something? You didn't like the cold. You left Michigan, because it was too cold. I didn't visit you today. Work was too busy. You told me once that there was a job you had in New York where you had to program computers for 60 hours a week seven days a week and how it made you feel so tired. You'd think this snow was neat though. The branches of the trees across the street touch the ground, they're so heavy. I miss you calling me "kid" and I miss you in general. Just the other day I told Lee that secretly Whiskers is my favorite pet even though he's the most anti-social. The truth is he reminds me a bit of you, because he gets through all day and then looks at me when I get home, eats his dinner, and then sits quietly next to me on the couch. Did it ever snow this much? It's a lot of snow, I mean the bushes out front have fallen down and your car is covered in white.