The bells, the bells... that is, the Salvation Army solicitors have packed up their buckets and bells for another year. All stores were closed here save convenience stores under 1500 s.f. (part of Maine's "Blue Laws") so traffic into town on Christmas Day was nil. Not so in the evening - seemed like everyone just HAD to go to the movies, or Grandma's, or out to eat. For a major State and National holiday, as well as a seemingly major event in the lives of those who participate in the dominant religion hereabouts, there sure was a bargeload of traffic for a non-work day.
On the road this morning I came swooping along in the snow flurries and flew over a hill and into a valley and Whoopsadaisy!!!! there was no traction left as I slid across the culvert and up the other side. As fast as you can say "Bob's your Uncle," little one, I was back onto wet pavement and fishtailing along as the traction had returned with a vengance. Once we'd managed to remove the seat covers from our bottoms and slowed for the stop sign onto the main road, it was "No hassles, mon," all the way into Bangor. This little bit of snow flurry has covered all of the ugliness exposed by the inch of rain and snow-eating fog of gargantuan proportions which consumed us on Christmas Day. The cellar has about 4 inches of water (nature abhors a vacuum, don'tcha know, and what else is a cellar but a stormwater collection basin to Mother Nature?) so the feral kitties (aka "The Dirty Dozen") are all huddled on the porch for warmth in a vain attempt at staying dry. Willow-the-Wonder-Dog daintily minces through the mud in the dooryard to the old snowbanks left by plowing to make her deposit on the "Universal Excrement Exchange Formerly Known As A Lawn."
That's life down here on the funny farm. Hope Santa fulfilled your wishes whilst he emptied your pocketbook. And may all your spirits be on ice!
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