“Are you trying to provide evidence for an insanity defense one day?”
Those words from my dear wife were ringing, ringing, ringing in my mind as my teeth chattered and my lower extremities grew numb. My upper body was still warm and somewhat dry, but the ice-cold waters of the Broad River were having an awful effect on my immersed lower body. I was feverishly trying to unsink my submerged kayak, while simultaneously thinking back to the chain of events that led me to this hilariously only-me type of conundrum.
The snow started in last night where I live, an unexpected, overachieving storm that left several inches of snow on the ground and was still going strong on the beautiful Norman Rockwell-like Saturday on which I write this column.
Lunch had passed, and I had nothing to do until my Sunday School class party at 6 p.m. And then the idea struck me like an epiphany from the heavens: kayaking in the snow.
Thrilled with my stroke of genius, I told my son what we should do. He immediately said no. I proclaimed him a Philistine and turned to my wife. Not only did she also say no, but she then hit me with the question I started this column with.