Of Sand and Surf

The sun is warm against my face. I am holding a margarita in one hand and taking a break from my reading, I am fanning myself with the book clutched in the other. Just then, a breeze rolls off the water.

Ah. The surf is washing up and the sounds of it crashing and then rolling back out is so soothing. Then there’s the occasional screech of a seagull. It’s drawing closer now. I hear it nearly overhead.

Then I wake up.

What I’m actually hearing is the shriek of the alarm clock. Welcome back to reality. To reality where the crunch of white beneath my feet isn’t sand at all but snow. Never-ending, God-awful snow.

My hat’s off to those of you in the northeast who’ve had several feet of this crap to contend with. We’re just barely over a foot, thanks to a few added inches yesterday morning. (Added inches that were just enough to re-cover both cars and to fill in all the stuff I had cleared on Thursday and again Saturday. I’m SO SICK of shoveling snow I could die.) I ventured out yesterday only to clear paths yet AGAIN, feed the birds who are to be pitied for their plight in such cruel conditions, and to deposit the trash at the alley.

Thanks to all that hard-fought clearing I’ve managed to pull something in my back. It is regularly reminding me that it’s there, cussing me at every turn. Advil Liqui-Gels are my new best friend.

This morning it is not snow but freezing drizzle that is the enemy. It is very light, thankfully, but it has been enough , on top of yesterday’s added snowfall, to really gum up the roads. I made it safely to the busstop, not without a few slides though, and the bus is trundling sloooooooooowly along, occasionally doing a slide of its own. (We’re already five minutes behind schedule thanks to the slick roads.)

Here’s hoping for a safe rest-of-the-commute. (If you’re reading this, I made it.)