I don’t know about you, but this weather is driving me batty, or maybe I should say southward. First the most frigid days imaginable, then coping with icy roads, and now more snow. I’ve resorted to looking up southern destinations on the internet, and dreaming of rumrunners in the Virgin Islands.
I’m serious about the latter. I actually sent away for Virgin Island magazines and brochures and have been busy learning all I can about the islands, all the while knowing it is an impossible dream with the responsibilities I must tend to here, and the money I don’t have to get there.
Oh well, it’s still fun to dream. And I think I’m better off than the Midland County guy that called the cops because he saw Bigfoot in his back yard. Now that’s an impossible dream.
Dreaming of warmer climes, sure beats dealing with reality that had me stuck on a thick sheet of ice last Saturday. That’s right, I got a darn 4-wheel drive vehicle, one of the heaviest vehicles available, and I couldn’t get it off an ice slick in front of my house. God, isn’t winter great.
At least I was in better shape than Carol, our venerable office manager at the Marion Press. On one of those cold nasty nights last week she awoke to let her dog outside. She stepped out on the porch in her nightgown, and oopsy, she had shut the door and locked herself out.
Frantically she began pulling out the screen in the adjoining window. Oopsy twice, the screen came out but the actual window was locked. Not panicking, Carol trudged through knee deep snow in her slippers to the garage. She knew above the garage she had spare clothes. She wrapped herself in a coat and pondered her next move, all the while, listening to her teeth chatter in the chill of the night.
She decided to walk nearly a ¼ of a mile to her nearest neighbors. She prayed someone would be home. Alas she knocked on the front door, and a few seconds later it opened. Carol was able to escape the mind numbing thoughts of frostbite and enter a heated home. She then was able to call a friend who had an extra key to her home. Alls well that ends well, so they say. That was last week, and we can all laugh about it this week. Ha ha.
It’s only January 17. We officially have not even endured an entire month of winter. That means we still have two months, or two-thirds of winter to live through. I don’t know about you, but when I chose mid-Michigan as my home, I didn’t sign up for Alaska-type weather.
I’ve had my pipes freeze, my car refuse to start and my butt bruised from falling on the ice pond that magically formed in my driveway. Last Saturday, after finally enlisting the help of two neighbors who pushed me off that ice slick, I came down with the 24-hour flu. Puking and fever, another sign that old man winter will always get the best of us, reared its ugly head on this sarcastic dude.
I can only wait for what the next two months will bring. I know what it won’t bring. You won’t find me on that crowded Carribbean beach drinking rumrunners and oogling the endless parade of bikini-clad babes. It might make for a great dream, but I’m more likely to be drinking hot chocolate and seeing farmers in five layers of clothing.