As we head into the summer season of 2012, I begin to think, “Where was the winter of 2011-12?” It certainly never showed up in this part of the territory.

This self-questioning led to the recall of winters that were real savages.

One, in particular, jumped out ahead of the others.

It was the late ‘70s. Barbara, my wife, was in the hospital so I was in command of the “ranch.”

About 2 a.m. with the electric blanket control set on the high numbers, I was sound asleep. Suddenly, the blare of an automobile horn awakened me. As jolting as this was, it was no surprise — it had happened before. One of our two vehicles had the nasty habit of blowing its horn whenever the outside temperature slid into the mid-teens.

I think it was some mechanical or electrical phenomena. (I do not believe the car actually wanted entry to the house.) The horn fix was not too difficult, get up, go out in the carport, open the driver’s side door of the offending vehicle, deliver a hard slap on the horn button and go back to bed.

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