WENT RIGHT FROM being buried Tuesday to being iced in Wednesday. The city declared a Level 3 Snow Emergency, which as I understand it basically means if you’re not an emergency vehicle (or, I guess, the media), they’ll plow you off the side of the road and leave you there until thaw.
Or something like that.
So I burned ANOTHER vacation day and missed work. Emailed in slick at 7 and went back to bed.
Got up an hour or so later, my decision ratified by the fact that the road behind our house (our only way off the hill — up OR down) was STILL impassable. Ordinarily, I would expect traffic to substantially clear the pavement. (The road is a major artery between this eastern bedroom community and the central business district.) But NOOOooooo. A solid sheet of ice. Not simplified by the fact that the Gunga Din wallahs have been wagga-wagga-ing at a water main break up the way for the best part of the last week, and that it has this tendency to weep at the most inopportune moments. Down the hill. Past the end of our street. Which has a cattle pen of pencil-necked orange barrel-ettes emplaced to channel traffic — such as it is and what there is of it — around the (and I say this advisedly) “work” area.
Now, that’s not fair. Those guys are working their asses off in cold water, in cold weather, in cramped, uncomfortable placess. I remind you why you don’t like emergency plumbing.
True enough. I withdraw the above scare quotes.
But the interrupt was good for the pacing.
Like Brigid, we had pancakes for breakfast. We had ours with bacon. I don’t ordinarily like maple-flavored bacon, but just soaking in the syrup — even the fake “diet” syrup I have to have — it’s a bit o’ ‘eaven, ittis.
Toured the blogosphere and noticed that a lot of people were having snow days. The TV news clued us to the fact that this storm apparently hit most of flyovercountry. (Tip to New Yawkers: from the Appalachians to the Rockies is a lot more than half the country, even if to you it’s just The Other Half.) I hope you-all managed to wring some joy out of it. God knows there’ll be little enough of that days-to-come, what with the communist agitprop in the White House and the Termagent from Frisco clinging to the Speakership.
Spent the day indoors for the most part in domesticated bliss, doing a little bit of everything. Funny. People are starting to mention cabin fever. I’ve been indoors since Friday night, now. I remember from the winter of ’78, that it takes a lot longer than four or five days for me to get cabin fever. I can always find something to occupy myself. (Mom would say I can always find a way to get into trouble.) And if that fails, there’s always a nap. The cats enjoy the company.
Part of what I did was to transfer my files out of the milk crates they were in — supporting my cluttered … no, littered desk top — and into the new lateral drawers. For the first time since I started this project, three years ago next month, I feel like this room is finally a place I might be able to do some work. Even as work progresses on the room itself.
The weather reports Wednesday night look as though the weather might break. Cold overnight, to be sure — make sure you leave the water running a trickle — but with no major precipitation seeming to be predickitated, so we might be able to make it to work Thursday. Cars needed to be disinterred.
Dug out of the ground? Don’t you mean disinsnowed?
OK. Or disiniced, more the case. Both of our Jeeps were encased in inches of ice. I’m not sure what the official conclusion as to ice accumulation was, but I was hearing numbers around an inch. Maybe so. But there also had to be a glaciation factor — compaction of snow into ice — as well. It took me about a half hour to scrap, chip, melt, and sweep the stuff off my Cherokee and Toni a similar time on her Liberty. And the Foxy Divorcee did a number on her Camry with Toni’s telescoping Big Mamajama scraper while everybody was at it. FD also backed her car around nosing down the street (parked the wrong way and at an angle) in the hope that it would help her takeoff in the AM. I already park pointed that way and Toni’s an optimist. Or she figures she’ll be able to back up into FD’s space and turn around there or something. I sure wouldn’t want to try to turn around in the skating rink down in the cul de sac.
You’re being too kind.
You’re right. It’s more like the terminus of a glacier, with all manner of ruts and cravasses criss-crossing the cul de sac.
Do glaciers have ruts?
And so Thursday, it will be back off to the land of the employed and productive, our momentary lapse into a childlike enjoyment of winter over for the nonce.
As it turns out, that’s all I have the time, patience, concentration, and… something else that fits in this list… to blog about, so that will just have to do you.