Let it snow (as a curse)
Grumble, grumble. Mutter, mutter. Before going any further: to those persons who have been wishing for an abundant snowfall; a pox on all your houses, down to the seventh generation. To the woman who stood in the bus shelter, shouting into her cellphone; we can all hear you JUST FINE.
There. That felt better. Every year we go through the same song and dance with the first snowstorm. Who will close? How much will fall? Will it slow things down for getting home. Here’s the responses to the quiz: Not us. Too much. Yes.
We were invited to begin our respective return to the homestead journeys a full fifteen minutes earlier than usual. Such largesse was possible once the more senior administrative staff had already “left the building”. My personal bus was on time, but things went sour after that. What should have been a fifteen minute layover between routes turned into a fifty-five minute chance to test the windbreak ability of our city bus shelters. They resemble glass loafing barns. They fill up quickly when the fleet is slow coming to port. The protection offered outside of one, around the corner is enough to elicit study on the ability of high winds to turn corners. Did I mention that there was sufficient snow to chill the party spirits?
Once my “express bus” arrived, we needed an additional twenty-five minutes to drive around three edges of one city block (a bus abhors taking a direct route) and then another hour to make to the bottom of the big hill (such times would normally be appropriate for a crawling infant). Total elapsed time to get home: three solid hours. At least I had the CBC to keep me distracted.
Only five more months to go in the wintery season. I am so pumped!
