Snow in Coldwater

This was the view out the office window today:

I think I should have stopped before I tried to put in the footprints, but I’ve never learned to leave well enough alone, which probably has something to do with why I’m a motel owner and not a graphic artist. I guess I could fix it in Photoshop, but that feels like cheating.

Besides that, there really are little animal tracks out there. I’m not sure what made them. One of Joey’s cats, most likely. I can’t imagine a coyote having the nerve to get that close to the building.

The Volkswagen belongs to the guy who owns the garage. It’s beautiful. He’s trying to finish restoring it this winter so he can take it out to the Arizona Route 66 Association’s annual Fun Run this spring.

The Firebird is all but worthless on snow, so I just stayed here all day, painting and making curtains for Unit 3. It’s supposed to snow some more tonight. Joey is hoping some travelers will get stuck and come here for the night so we can have company, but I’m not holding my breath.

He wants to have a snowball fight tomorrow. I told him maybe. I hate being out in the cold, but it’s hard to say no to Joey. He gets so excited about little things, and he still doesn’t understand why Miss Shirley left. I tried to tell him she was sick, but to Joey, “sick” means you threw up or caught a cold. He keeps telling me we should take her some medicine so she can get better and come home.

How do you explain the concept of a nursing home to someone like Joey? I don’t even try. If I told him what happened to Miss Shirley, he wouldn’t understand, and it would just break his heart. So I don’t tell him. I just try to distract him when he mentions her.

Maybe I will go out and play in the snow with him tomorrow. I’d rather be outside, getting pummeled with snowballs in the cold, than inside, answering questions neither of us really wants to think about. Maybe we can walk down to Casa de Jesus and have a bowl of menudo afterward.

— Sierra

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