Monday, January 5, 2009
That's the sound that three feet of snow makes when it falls from the roof. It's also the sound I make when I finally get back to work after holidays and snow time off (all of which were compounded by ongoing computer issues), and see the utter chaos of my desk. Good grief, Charlie Brown! Talk about needing a plow.
I was out of touch again on Friday because my mountain got snowed on again, and followed with freezing rain. I tried to get out, really I did. Ended up not even getting half way up my street before (while in forward, mind you) I started sliding backward. I ended up wedged against a five foot tall snow bank that I had to shovel through and around in order to even think of getting the truck out. It was heavy, icy snow to shovel... boy howdy, what a workout! I used words that I'm sure my mother doesn't even want to know that I know. Sailors would be jealous of that caliber of cursing. Sam Jackson could take lessons from me.
I was still having trouble getting anywhere, although by this point I had already called in to work and said I wouldn't be there. Mostly, I just wanted to get the truck out of the street and home (all of 300 feet away). Thanks to another friendly stranger (gads, but I'm likin' these mountain folk!) named Doug, who was out walking his dog, I was soon back in the driveway, safe and sound. Of course, it didn't happen without me tossing out a sarcastic comment (a barb, if you will.) Hey, it was his fault (and Bill Engvall's!).
As he and the pup came up to the truck, he asked, "Y'stuck?"
...wait for it...
"Nope," came my cheeky reply. "I always park sideways across the street like this." And muttered ala Bill Engvall, "Here's your sign...."
Fortunately Doug overlooked my dark humor - probably because he was smart enough to realize that I was soaking wet, panting from the workout, and my truck bed was full of snow chunks (smart thinking on my part to help weight the truck). Obviously, I'd been at the task for quite a while. So, he helped get me back where I belonged.
Apropos of nothing else, I have to share a Scott-ism. He said I could. This was part of his (only somewhat inebriated) voice mail to me on New Year's Eve (from Phoenix):
"Life is tough. Enjoy the hot tub while you're in it, and don't fuss about the bubbles that fill your pants. Don't complain that there's a pool with sun only in half of it. Just be in the part of the pool where you want to be. It's all good."
Gotta love a guy who spouts wisdom like that. You know it... my new catch phrase (because I like to say obscure things that make folks wonder) is, "don't fuss about the bubbles that fill your pants."
Try it... right now... say it aloud. Guaranteed to keep you smilin' for hours.
Posted by Barb Black at 3:07:00 PM