The National Guard has arrived. Not at our house, but in our town and other places across the county to help the stranded and frozen. The Mennonites are here, too.
Yesterday was another digging out day. I hiked down to the road and reuncovered the mailbox. The new snow and drifts made it impossible for vehicles to get to the house. I canceled my eye doctor appointment for the fourth time. The receptionist just laughed. I called to set up a new frequent flier account at Southwest Air. The lady I talked to cracked up when I told her where I lived.
I bet that it’s really nice in the Bahamas. I’ve never been there. I will probably never go, because I’ve had skin cancer and a beach is at the bottom of my list of vacation spots, unless it is a beach that is attractive in the moonlight. But just say the word: Baaa-haaa-maaaz. Baaa-haaa-maaaz.
Back to yesterday.
He cleaned out the driveway. We got out! We got out! Had dinner at our local pub talking to friends who are all in the same boat, no, wait, that’s not right, who are all in the same frozen igloo that we are.
(I am ignoring the weather forecasts that are calling for a possible fresh 18 inches of lake effect snow. My fingers are in my ears and I am loudly singing, “I can’t hear you, lu-lu-lu!”)
Quote from author Richard Ford about becoming a writer: “Try to talk yourself out of it. As a life, it’s much too solitary, it makes you obsessive, the rewards seem to be much too inward for most people, and too much rides on luck. Other than that, it’s great.” (Quote courtesy of The Writer’s Almanac.)
He forgot to mention the part about snow. Or about amazing dreams that wake you forty times like they did last night, and that I am now going to write down.