Other Atlantans disagree. Because things like this happen.

                                                                  A hiccup.                                                                  (Ben Gray/Atlanta Journal-Constitution/AP Photo) from http://abcnews.go.com/US/slideshow/southern-snow-storm-22280146

Which leads to this.

                                                                A gulp.                                                                (Ben Gray/Atlanta Journal-Constitution/AP Photo) from http://abcnews.go.com/US/slideshow/southern-snow-storm-22280146

And then this.

                             Reckless abandon. Like literal reckless abandon.                                                                     (David Tulis/AP Photo) from                                   http://www.cnn.com/2014/01/30/us/winter-weather/

Luckily I was at the house all day and could actually enjoy my home sweet home. However fleeting, it was a  welcome sight.

We played. It was great.

Reagan, me and Guinness playing in the snow.

But most importantly, I made snowmen. I mean you have to make snowmen when there’s snow. It’s like an unwritten rule in the How To Live A Little Handbook. As an ode to Calvin and Hobbes, one of THE best comic strips of all time, I created these.

The Days Are Just Packed snow army…            or rather snow army fail.

Of course mine were all big fat fails – except one little guy. One little guy made it work. For him, I am eternally grateful.

My Calvin and Hobbes lone survivor.

My sister made a snowman.

My sister’s snowman.

Her daughter, confused by the snowman. (she’s not alone)

I think we are both either way out of practice, or we have pretty disturbing childhood memories of how snowmen should look.

Regardless of what a pain it might seem, enjoy it folks. It won’t last long.

I’m jealous. I miss snow. I miss it a lot. I don’t miss shoveling it in May, but this time of year just isn’t the same without sub-zero wind chills and  a large white canvas calling my name. You really haven’t lived if you haven’t played in snow.

My siblings and I would build snow forts for our snowball fights (snowballs we’d spritz with water so they were rock hard – the only way to have a REAL snowball fight). I think one of my sisters may have been devious enough to put rocks in some of them as well. We were hardcore.

That’s right. One of our many mountainous snow hills.

Of course we’d build snowmen, too.

Is that a snowman with a pineapple on its head? Yeah, I had no part in the creation of this sad sad little man.

My cousin and I created a snow-Elmo. I was so proud.

And now you can see why my siblings weren’t the ones to go to art school.

Eventually we graduated from playful to perilous. My brother became an expert at building ramps for our sleds (we lived in Northern Indiana, people. Hills were few and far between the snow-covered corn fields.) Again, spritzed, or maybe drenched, with water so it could freeze and we could go farther faster. That’s how we roll.

There was one place we could go that was considered a hill by most stretches of the imagination… the good old Scout Cabin. Now when you’re a kid, it seemed like a mountain you had to climb and it felt like forever as you made your way to the top. In hindsight, it was probably two stories? Maybe?

One year, my brother, my younger sister and I decided to go sledding there. It was as risky as sledding could be for yester-year’s youth in my small town. My brother was the pusher. He would back up as far as he could with us, run (at what seemed like the speed of light) and let go. We would sail over the hill, screeching at the top of our lungs, wind smacking our face, snow on all sides, loving life and the freedom you felt for those twenty seconds of utter sledding bliss.

Except the time my brother pushed my little sister too hard and she went flying straight for the river. He shouted at her to roll off the sled repeatedly. I stood in awe. She kept screaming (but didn’t roll off …???). My brother sprinted down the hill. I stood, still watching in awe. She finally rolled over like a foot from the river and … it was done. My parents would have been SO mad! But it was AWESOME!!!

My brother pushing my sister. Her face basically looked just like that all the way down to the river. I guess it really can freeze that way.

Little daredevil stuff like that just isn’t the same in summer. For those of you that have it, go out and do something with it. Maybe salt on the roads and plowing out your drive isn’t your idea of fun, but you can make it fun. Be a kid again. Make an angel. Build a fort. If not for you, then so those stuck in a warm sunny climate that has no snow can live vicariously through you. Remember – it’s a no-take-backs life, baby!

I no longer look at the horses in their pastures. I no longer appreciate the bluegrass in Kentucky or the mountains in Tennessee. I drive by the Corvette Museum, which is one of the coolest architectural structures around, and I just check it off as, yep, I’ve hit Bowling Green. I count mile markers and exit signs while I get annoyed with the slowest driver EVER in the LEFT LANE (I know you all feel me on that one).

Returning from my last trip home I decided I was going to change things up a bit. I had recently decided I want to become a whiskey connoisseur (I’ll post about that later). 95% of the world’s bourbon is produced in Kentucky. I drive right by the Bourbon Trail every time I do this trip. Of course I drive by a million other places and things I never see because I don’t take the time to stop and check them out. We all do this. Why? What’s so wrong about getting in an hour or two later than you had previously planned? Why does everything have to be so rushed and scheduled?

Spontaneity kicked in and I was getting off the highway. I made an executive decision. I was going to see the Maker’s Mark distillery.  There’s a sign saying that Jim Beam and Maker’s Mark are sitting right off of I-65. Seriously. And I’d never toured a distillery before. Here I come. 

I could practically spit on Jim Beam from the exit road. Maker’s Mark couldn’t be too far down the street. Oh look! It’s the Rosewood distillery. I kept on trucking. The road started winding. It was beautiful. I was seeing parts of Kentucky I had never seen. Suddenly I was noticing the bluegrass again, and the horses and the time it was taking me to get to the distillery… Where is this place again? I thought it was just off the highway. I’m thirty minutes in; I’d better check my GPS. GPS says thirty more minutes?!!!! Where is this place? In France? Now things are getting sketchy. That horse just looked at me weird. Did that sign just say “turn back now if you value your life?!!”.

I came to an impasse and SIRI was telling me to go straight but it looked like the skinniest driveway I’d ever seen. Is this what Kentucky calls a road? One car, I’m telling you ONE car TOPS, could be on this thing at a time. Did Maker’s Mark actually want visitors? The last tour was in thirty minutes. I was never going to make it and I was suddenly stuck in the backwoods of Kentucky that had become much more sketchy than pretty, but I was on a mission. I hauled it to that distillery. I wasn’t going to fail. Suddenly, the woods cleared, the road widened and there it was in all its wondrous glory. The Maker’s Mark Distillery.

I had five minutes. I followed the signs, saw the cars and pulled into the drive. One minute till the last tour of the day. I ran inside the house, making a great Kramer entrance, and there were fifteen to twenty people sitting in a meeting all staring my way. I ignored them at first, just looking around the house, probably going into rooms I shouldn’t have as I was searching for my would- be tour group. Finally as I was left with nothing to do but stand and stare at the people staring back at me, a nice gentleman got up and asked if he could help me.

Me staring at the Maker’s Mark board staring at me.

Slow on the uptake, that’s when I realized, I might be in the wrong place. I said to everyone, with a smile of course, “so this isn’t the distillery tour starting point, I take it?” They all laughed at me. The nice gentleman walked me out explaining they were having a board meeting and that I had to go down the hill. He assured me if he had a dollar for every time someone made the same mistake … he’d have a dollar.

I thanked him repeatedly and hopped in my car, praying there was a delay. I got out, went to the right tour spot, but it was locked. I’d missed the boat. Are you KIDDING ME?!!! Well, I wasn’t going through all this for nothing, and no regrets, right? So I headed to the souvenir shop to buy myself a shot glass.

Near the tour entrance and souvenir shop.

Praise be to the wonderful lady selling Maker’s Mark’s commercial goods. She made the mistake of asking how I was doing and I explained my sorrow in missing the Maker’s Mark tour. 152 million times I drive past this place and the one time I stop… hold that thought. The lady was on the phone. It was done. I may have missed the tour, but she got me into the tasting (and we all know that’s what I really wanted, especially after the hour and a half I’d just spent trying to find the place and you know, humiliating myself in front of their board). And the tasting was on the house. Like I said, wonderful lady.

I thanked her profusely as she led me through the back secret way (which was super cool) to the tasting room. Just in time. It was fantastic and I learned a lot. Roy (I think? Maybe Ray? Or maybe Frank??) was so kind and so great at explaining the differences between their products. Loved every minute of it. Sadly, we were done, but then EXTRA SUPER COOL Roy?  offered to take me on a private tour because I came all this way, and again, on the house… UH-MAZING.

The tasting. Thank you Maker’s Mark! It was a beautiful thing.

MAD MAD MAD respect for the people at Maker’s Mark. They went above and beyond reminding me there really are such good people in this world. And by taking the road less traveled (let’s be honest – it looked like it was NEVER traveled) I scored an experience I would never take back. Next time you’re on a road trip, or maybe it’s on the way to work, I challenge you to make one extra stop. Try something new because life is too short. Do things a little differently and start your year off right.

On my birthday. It was awesome … I think.