I am sitting here in the living room with no pants on. Why, you ask? I just fell into a puddle in our walkway while preparing for a dump run. The walkway is a piece of crap all year 'round. The busted, heaved up asphalt with sides higher than the middle collects deep pools of water right where you want to walk. In winter, this translates to sheets of super smooth ice an inch or more thick in spots. I had made one trip to the car armed with a load of safe recycling(i.e. paper). No mishaps. My success made me bold and arrogant. My next trip out I loaded both hands with bags of glass bottles. I waltzed breezily down the walkway. Just as I made the turn toward Chip's car my feet lost contact with the ground and my butt found it. Luckily, a cold, muddy puddle softened the blow. Oh! The indignity! After angrily stashing the bags of recycling in the car I made my way into the garage to get the garden spade. This is the tool of choice for smashing walkway ice. I know this because I spent several hours performing this muscle jarring task last week on a snow day from work. I grabbed the spade and in a pissed-off huff backed out of the garage. I smashed my head into the blade of the roof rake that hangs down from it's place of rest. "F*CK!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. It felt good to curse Winter.
I am officially sick of this solstice and am ready for an equinox.
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Tomorrow Chip and I are heading into Boston so I can borrow a -20 degree sleeping bag, double plastic boots and a sled to drag it all in on. Where will I be dragging this stuff? Oh, just into Baxter State Park up in Northern Maine for a 4 day winter camping/hiking trip. Guess I'll have to wait a few more weeks to be officially sick of winter.
Gotta go put some pants on. Quit staring!
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