Ice Day

Husband got home about 1am and couldn't make it up the driveway.  He slide backwards down it and the wrong way across the street but thankfully managed to stop before ending up in the neighbor's yard - that guy is a NUT about his grass - so he parked around the corner.  I'm not sure why navigating the corner seemed like a good idea but as I mentioned, we're no longer operating in logic land around here.  Plus my brother's car was hit once while parked in front of our house, which is the "main drag" (ha) so I suppose he can cobble together a story for the neighbors. 

All of this, of course, he had to wake me up to tell me about.  So now, um, happily awake, I watched the local news with him and confirmed the schools were closed.  And he announced I was not going to go to work today.  Which, for those couple people reading who don't know him, is hysterical because he's not the bossy macho type.  But at 1-something in the morning, watching the local news coverage of the Storm To End All Storms, I couldn't find any reason to disagree.  He doesn't have to leave for work till noon so on no school days I'll usually put in a half day but the thought of driving 35 miles in the ice for four hours of shuffling paper seemed silly.  Especially considering I can ruin a car these days merely by touching the keys.  I was a spin out waiting to happen and AAA hasn't kicked in yet. 

Of course, you might notice in this picture this morning there are no icicles.  No dramatically downed trees.  By this morning it was not so much Ice Storm 2010, as a "glazing" (lower case).  But, again, am more than a little gunshy about the cars so will just stick with the plan to stay home.  Further reconfirmed when I went to put a box of stuff out front for random charity and landed on my elbow.  Then the little dog off out the front door (my life IS a country song) as I was stretched out across the front steps.  Disloyal mutt.  Hadn't really expected a "glazing" would be quite so slippery.  So then, suddenly picturing random charity guy breaking his neck on my front walkway in an effort to collect 20 year old textbooks, I decided to salt the walkway. 

My shoes are all upstairs and I'm too lazy to make that trek so I put on my husband's clown shoes.  I'm also still in my plaid PJs & robe (I know, sexy).  I find what turned out to be a shockingly inadequate bag o'salt,  open the garage and.... again.  Flat on my back.  And this time I hit my head pretty hard so I decided to stay down.  It was surprisingly relaxing.  What does it mean when the calmest moment of the day will likely have been spent on your back, in the driveway, on a sheet of ice, in your jammies?  It mean you have a concussion you nincompoop.  Am off to find the advil.