It’s official, I live on the East Coast. Yesterday after we dragged ourselves home from another endless day of packing and dragging and moving a little chill crawled into the air. “Nippy,” I thought and went on about my business. Then the next thing I knew I was being asked for my car keys so the car could be moved under the carport, lest the snow get all piled up on it, don’t you know?
Snow? Wait a minute. Now what happened to that thing you said, “It doesn’t really get all that cold here (thanks to global warming) …maybe some rain…” Uh-huh, I thought, duped again. As you can well imagine, having come from southern California my idea of warm clothes would include a somewhat heavy cardigan sweater, a parka and scarf – oh yeah, I brought a couple pair of gloves too. Suddenly I’m thinking about hats and boots and corduroy – possibly even velvet. Yikes, me in velvet, perish the thought.
The fact that it has been literally decades since I have lived in snow country (albeit much worse than this) and in all honesty have never driven in snow (except for that stupid drivers ed. course in high school which is but a dull memory now) does kind of diminish my enthusiasm for the sparkly white stuff a bit. I have visions of slip-sliding all over the road or driving so slow that the already impatient drivers in this town will be laying on their horns non-stop as I toddle my way down the avenue.
On the other hand, it is rather pretty to see everything kind of frosted and sparkly with snow and does remind me of childhood and certainly seems more Christmas-y than 80 degrees and flip flops – so it’s a mixed bag I guess. I was hoping I’d get the rest of my bulbs in before it snowed but the weather man says it won’t last so maybe I’ll luck out and will be able to get those puppies in next week before some bizarre blizzard or something hits us here in pretty town, usa.
Hopefully there won’t be anymore today though – we are back on moving duty, which thus far is endless. I wonder if we will ever get to the bottom of all the stuff in the old apartment. I’m not exactly the moving brute type and my wrists and ankles feel like they are going to just snap sometimes – oh well, what we do for love.
Have a nice Sunday, guys.
Anita Rodgers Mystery Writer 