Taking a risk
Another quiet evening at home, with a good book and a potential for disaster.
Nothing to do with the book, and certainly not from the fear of an earthquake. We’re in a relatively stable zone, hereabouts. No, my “risk taking” involves a cold mug of mixed soda pops (blends may also work for whiskies and wines). The mug, you see, is cracked.
Has been for some time now. More than halfway down one side. Similar to a windshield with a lateral line. Some day, there’s going to be a mess, but… How will I know when the time is nigh? Will the crack lengthen? Will I hear a faint moan, or will I suddenly have two halves and a wet floor? Anticipation.
I should have been proactive today; shopped for groceries, or seasonal needs. There is another winter storm warning in place, and at one time I would have been busily laying aside the survival larder. Now, not so much. If need be, we have enough potato chips and dip to see us through the first twenty-four hours.
Instead, I’ve been working my way through “Gate House” by Nelson DeMille. Not his best book, based on the first three hundred pages. Still time to pick up the pace, though. I guess I don’t find Long Island as exotic as Plum Island.
Did I mention that there’s a campaign underway to open a hill (that is closed for winter). The roadway is steep, winding, a preferred shortcut for those who have to transit from below to above in the city. And, the road is on federal property. The mayor has offered to shovel it out. I say, “Let him!” Some honest effort would mark him as a changed man.
