In this transitional time, I wake up every morning not to the cat licking my nose or my husband resting beside me, but the perky early morning teams of the local news on my all-night television.
Someone needs to tell these folks there is nothing adorable about two below zero... Fahrenheit. It's not even wryly amusing. This is the place body parts freeze and fall off.
The cold snap had not yet hit when I approached my car yesterday to take me to work at the fourth Holiday Pops performance in four days. The shows were great, but the car was already losing its will.
Sitting in my brother's big-house-on-the-prairie, wide-open driveway sealed the doors, gas cap and hood in ice. The sound of cracking ice accompanied the opening of the door when I finally forced it. The engine sputtered without enthusiasm on the first few tries... and I knew exactly how it felt.
A design flaw in the Honda CRV freezes the windshield wiper fluid at any temperature below 25. My window on the world is grimy and distorted.
Dropping the temp below zero (no, that is not the wind chill factor, it's the actual temperature -- suicide prevention centers suggest local media downplay the wind chill)didn't do much for the car or I this morning.
The other drivers give me a wide berth when they spot my Georgia license plates. The other cars kick up salt and slush in jealous disdain.
I'm the first one in the office this morning and sit at my desk in my boots, socks, tights, slacks, two sweaters, a scarf and my coat. My keyboard is cold to the touch, but my car is basking in the relative luxury of indoor parking.
The cup of tea on my desk served briefly to warm my hands before succumbing to tepid-then-cool.
I hope it warms up in here when the others arrive and the appropiate person calls building management. The car is currently thawing and does not wish to be disturbed.





Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs