According to our neighbor, the large sheet of ice down our hill is the only ice left on the streets of Nashville. The Butcher’s car is, as I said, down at the end of the dead end. Some other tiny car is slid sideways in front of our place. The aforementioned neighbor was stuck at the mailboxes. While he pushed, I steered and we slid the car down the hill safely.
Happily, tomorrow is supposed to be above freezing and so I hope that the ice that keeps me trapped today will be gone for Christmas.
As I watched the Butcher’s tiny car slide back down the hill for third time, I knew I was going to be carless once again. The Butcher’s car sits at the end of our dead end, pointing towards freedom, but too light to take anyone there.
My car, though, model of German/American ingenuity (and Dodge’s genius for developing a body style that reminds all us thirty-somethings of the 80s Cameros we wanted so desperately to get laid in) can get up the hill. And so, there it goes without me, on its way to a day that does not include another 14 hours of tv.
How much do I regret leaving the manuscripts I was planning on reading in the airport on Sunday in my car? Oh, a hell of a lot. How much TV can one girl watch?
Yesterday, I crocheted a hat for my mom and got about 2/3 of the way done on one for me. Today, sunny though it is, will see the completion of that hat and the start, I predict, of another one.
It’s weird. If I had a car, I’d have no problem with staying in all day. But without my car, I’m utterly unable to come up with things for me to do.
On the upside, at least the Butcher will have to buy me a tank of gas.