The Tradition Lives On

For those of you follow Chasing Roots regularly, you know that every winter I - along with any family members brave enough to join me - make a snow angel...in my swimsuit.

When we lived in the Midwest, swimsuit snow angels happened every year, no matter what. But since we moved to Texas, keeping the tradition alive depends not on our desire to do so but on Mother Nature almost entirely. If she sees fit to send snow during our week-long visit to Wisconsin, Nebraska, or Illinois, we make snow angels; if she doesn't, we don't. And unfortunately, this year she dropped from her oppressive, ominous clouds only the smallest dusting, which was no where near enough in which to make swimsuit snow angels. (There are few things as painful as making swimsuit frozen dirt and dead grass angels, which is what ends up happening when there isn't enough snow.)

So a couple of weeks ago, my dad...he carried the torch for the rest of us.

Apparently he also carried a beer.
He is from Wisconsin, after all.

Rock star.

The tradition lives on.