Every morning I get up to peek out the window to see if there is a little bit of snow. In December, I would tune in to the weather channel to see if any was forecast by Christmas.

I wish Granddad were here. He could tell the weather by the feeling in his bones; I chuckle at the thought.

I also thought of my little brother; Frank died in 2013.

One of my fondest memories of Frank is when he turned 6 or 7 on Dec. 19. I remember Dad spending a little bit of time in the barn — we were one of the few houses right near the heart of Pendleton that actually had a real big barn behind the house. He had bought a snow shovel (adult size) for Frank, then cut the handle down to size so it was just right for a little guy to use.

Frank was so excited over that snow shovel. It was the first time I recall Frank getting excited over a money-making project as well. He started thinking of all the neighbors who might be willing to pay a dime or even a quarter to get their walks shoveled. He went out right away.

We lived on Pendleton Avenue across from what used to be the old phone company.

There was the widow of an eye doctor who lived two houses south of the phone company. Frank was so thrilled when she was his first customer — and ever so proud when she told him what a good job he did and to come by when it snowed again.

The doctor’s wife paid him a quarter and gave him a nickel tip.

The next two houses he went to told him no. It actually was still snowing a little bit, and they said to wait until the next day and they would see.

Frank ended up making a quarter and two dimes that day before going to one last stop on Main Street.

The Farley Fullen family lived across the railroad track that ran behind our barn. Just north of the Fullens was another house with a garage beside it, where the father and son were always working on cars together.

Then there was the large old home of the Ice family. It was like the homes at the turn of the century (20th) that had the front door opening almost directly onto the street.

Across the alley from the Ice home was a less elegant house. The Ice home was built of brick and stood firm forever. The house across the alley was owned by another woman whose name I never knew. It was a two-story wooden house that she shut off during the winter months.

She lived in one room at the back that appeared to be her kitchen, living room and possibly even her bedroom during the cold season.

I don’t remember ever going into her home, but I did get a peek in a time or two when Frank went to see if he could do anything for her to earn some money.

It never seemed disrespectful when we referred to her as the old woman on Main Street. That’s just what I remember the kids calling her, because so few actually knew her name.

The year Frank got his snow shovel was actually when he began to develop the habit of stopping in to see if she needed help carrying in wood for her stove or anything else.

First it was to shovel the snow. She said no.

Frank thought maybe the quarter was too much because there it was such a short walk. How about a dime?

No, she told him emphatically.

Now it was getting darker, and Frank would have to head home soon, but he really wanted to use that snow shovel. Later, Frank said he even asked to do it for free — and she still said no!

Maybe she was just too embarrassed to say she didn’t have a dime and too proud to let Frank do it for nothing, Dad said.

Frank thought about that overnight then the first thing the next morning he got up, grabbed his shovel from near the front door and said he would be back in a few minutes.

I decided to get up and go with him because it was still pretty dark outside.

He went to the old woman’s house on Main Street and shoveled as quietly as possible. He finished up the walk at the back door and ran back home to get ready for school.

That afternoon, Frank was checking out the neighborhood for potential customers when the old woman called to him.

“Did you do that?” she asked rather sternly. Frank said he thought she sounded kind of mad at him. But he told her he did.

The woman turned away from the door a minute then reached out to give him a small tin filled with peanut butter fudge. Frank continued way into his adulthood to proclaim it the best he ever tasted.