Monday, Jan 20 Ah, the calm before the storm! Mobile, Alabama—sitting right on the edge of the Gulf—preparing for a rare, southern snowstorm. It’s a spectacle in itself, isn’t it? Snowflakes in the air, when you’re usually dodging hurricanes or basking in the sun. People are scrambling, gearing up for that 1-3 inches they’re predicting, but we all know how that goes. When snow’s in the forecast, it’s like the world suddenly shifts into “survival mode.”
The grocery store aisles? Completely barren, save for the lonely cans of beans and some random box of instant mashed potatoes. Bread? Gone. Like it’s the end of the world.
And let’s not forget the power outages. When the snow starts
to pile up, you can bet the lights will flicker out as soon as that first flake
hits. People up north might laugh, but for us? A little snow brings a whole
different kind of chaos.
And then there’s the work-from-home hustle. I’m grabbing my
computer, lugging it home, and setting up shop, just in case this snowstorm
decides to make itself at home for a few days. I know, I know—it's Alabama, so
the whole idea of working from home because of snow feels a little strange.
Of course, I’ll probably spend half the day watching snowflakes drift down while trying to stay focused on the task at hand. But there’s something cozy about the whole thing—my computer, a snow day, and a bit of Southern chaos to make it all feel just a little special. Just don’t let the snow melt too soon, alright? “I’ll be over here in my blanket fort, pretending to work!”
Tuesday, Jan 21 Historic
snowfall—eight inches in twelve hours! In Mobile, no less. It’s like the
weather gods decided to throw us a curveball and gave us a snow day to
remember. Barrett? He was in his element, turning the front yard into his own
winter wonderland. PaPa didn’t stand a chance. Before long, he was out there
with the sled, getting roped into snowball fights, and building a snowman that
was almost as tall as Barrett himself.
As for me? I was right in the middle of it all—snowflakes in
my hair, laughing too hard at Barrett’s enthusiasm. There we were, in the thick
of a snowball fight, making snow angels like we were kids again, and then of
course, the snow cream. Oh, the snow cream. Nothing says "Southern
snow day" quite like it. Then, just to make sure we didn’t forget what we
were doing in the first place, we took the golf cart out for a ride—faces
freezing, but you couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces.
Inside, it was all about filling the house with warmth and comfort—cooking up a storm and canning like we were preparing for winter’s grand finale. The air smelled like cozy, hearty food, and the whole day felt like one big celebration of a Southern winter gone wild. What an amazing day, one of those memories that’ll keep us smiling long after the snow’s melted away.
Wednesday, Jan 22 After the storm, the world was
transformed. The snow, still thick and heavy, gleamed under the crisp sunshine,
as if the whole sky had been wiped clean. It was overwhelming in the best
possible way, like nature had just pressed the reset button, and everything was
quiet, still, and impossibly beautiful. The air had that perfect chill, the
kind that makes you feel alive with every breath.
Barrett and I couldn’t resist. We built even bigger snowmen,
stacking snow higher, shaping it with a little more care, as if the snow had
given us a second chance to get it right. And then came the walks—long,
leisurely strolls through the snow-covered streets, the kind that make you feel
like time slows down. Every step was a crunch, the snow sparkling under the
clear blue sky.
We even took a trip out on the roads to our friends house to
get Eleanor, our 1930 Model A, out of the garage for a snow day adventure. Her
old-fashioned charm against the backdrop of pristine snow and the sun’s glow
made for a scene out of a dream. We couldn’t resist capturing the moment,
snapping photos of her in the snow, the old car standing proudly like a relic
of a time gone by, and the world around her frozen in winter’s embrace.
It was one of those days where the beauty of it all just
hits you in the chest. You can’t help but feel grateful for the moment, for the
snow, the sun, and the memories that were already taking shape, even as the
snow began to melt away.
Thursday, Jan 23 The snowman keep changing, doesn't it? As
the snow melts, or as you add a new carrot nose or reshape the arms, it’s a
reminder that nothing stays static. Life, like those snowmen, is
ever-evolving—sometimes unpredictable, but always shaped by the moments that
come before.
Our memories, too, are a bit like that snowman. They’re
constantly shifting and changing, colored by the lens of where we are now, by
new experiences and fresh perspectives. What once seemed certain might feel
different in the light of time. And yet, just like the joy in building that
snowman, there's beauty in the process. The way life morphs and shifts, how we
continually add layers to our own story, is what makes it so fascinating.
It’s a beautiful thought to reflect on—how everything, from snowmen to memories, transforms with time. It makes the moment feel even more precious, knowing it will continue to change, but it will always be part of who we are.
Friday, Jan 24 Baking
banana bread. The smell filled the house, wrapping around us like a warm
blanket on a cold day. It’s one of those little comforts that seems to slow
time down. It was more than just baking—it was about filling the house with
warmth, both from the oven and from the heart.
The heat from the oven made the whole place feel like a cozy
refuge from the snow outside. There’s something magical about the way the house
transforms when you’re cooking - it goes from just being a place to live to
being a home, a space that holds memories and moments.
Spoiling the family? That’s the fun part. There’s nothing
like seeing everyone’s faces light up when they walk into the kitchen and the
sweet, buttery aroma hits them. Barrett and PaPa laughing over something that
only they could understand, while I slice the warm banana bread into thick,
generous pieces. It’s the kind of moment that makes everything feel right in
the world.
I’m not just spoiling them with food, though. There’s a
deeper, quieter kind of spoiling happening here, sheltering them in a warmth
that extends beyond the bread and the heat from the oven. It’s in the laughter
shared, in the stories we tell, in the little moments that add up to something
so much bigger than any one day.
The snow may be melting outside, but inside, we’ve created our own little winter paradise, one slice of banana bread at a time.
Saturday, Jan 25. Cruising
out in the '55—sunshine streaming after the winter storm, the engine purring as
we roll down the road to our club outing. It’s more than just a drive; it’s an
experience. The kind of day where the journey feels as exciting as the
destination, and the road ahead feels full of promise. In the two years of our
newly formed club , Back Roads Touring Club, we have found it’s so much more
than a gathering of car enthusiasts—it’s a celebration of passion, creativity,
and connection.
The cars, of course, are the star of the show. Hot rods with
their roar and attitude, vintage beauties that whisper of another time,
original classics gleaming like they’ve never aged a day, and modern marvels
that turn heads in their own right. But it’s not just about the car, it’s about
the people. A mosaic of personalities, each bringing something unique to the
table. From seasoned mechanics to newcomers, from old-school aficionados to
those with a taste for the future, we all share something in common: the thrill
of the ride.
We talk about more than just repairs and upgrades—though we
certainly have our fair share of car talk. It's about art, craftsmanship, and
the joy of creating something that’s as much about the journey as it is about
the destination. Every car is a canvas, every upgrade an opportunity to add a
little bit of ourselves to the machine.
But it’s the community that makes it special. The way we encourage each other, share tips and tricks, and celebrate every success, big or small. We cheer each other on in repairs, laugh over mistakes, and revel in the beauty of our shared obsession. In the end, it’s not just about the cars, it’s about the connections we build, the fun we have, and the way it all comes together to create something far greater than the sum of its parts. The open road ahead is full of possibilities, and we’re driving it together.
Sunday, Jan 26 I love old things. There's something about
them—how they carry a history, a story that’s been passed down and layered over
time. The way old things feel warm, comforting, and full of meaning. I’m always
drawn to blending the past and the present, mixing new with old to create
little pockets of interest throughout my home.
In my kitchen, for example, there’s a mix of treasures that
seem like they were meant to be together. Items from my grandparents' home sit
side by side with quirky finds from garage sales, each piece telling its own
tale. And then there’s the centerpiece - a photo taken by my grandfather,
framed and nestled among them, a quiet nod to the legacy he left behind. The
photo of the pancakes on the griddle at the Boy Ranch kitchen, capturing a
moment of his life as a photographer, feels at home here in my kitchen, where
food and family have always been at the heart of things.
Each item has its own memory, and when they’re together,
they somehow create something new, something that tells the story of where I’ve
been, who I’ve loved, and what I hold dear. The blend of the old and new isn’t
just about style; it’s about creating a space that feels alive with the past
and full of possibilities for the future.
