Share on Google+
The water recedes on sunny Lake Snowbegone.

Happy Hate Month (part two)

3.6.15   I swore I wasn’t going to write more of this until Sunday, but really, this all boggles my mind. Last evening, the father of my children came by, to leave me a few things before he left for DC this morning. He brought #1 son’s girlfriend’s dog, Milton, and the large amount of food that he has not eaten since his family abandoned him; his pair of Yak Trax (the shoe things I vowed to buy at the end of my last installment); and his big, new tow strap. I proceeded to create a Fortress of Solitude for Milton under the dining room table, his favorite spot that isn’t a couch, and held his dinner bowl while he ate, the only way he will finish what’s in there. No dog skips a meal on my watch.

A man of caring and forethought, my sons’ father must have known that after yesterday’s 12 more inches of Stuff-We-No-Longer-Wish-to-Mention, I would be embarking on my latest career: personal towing service for son #2. Maybe the fact that it’s been his latest career for the past six weeks tipped him off. “Call your dad,” was not going to work for me this weekend.

“I don’t tow,” I said, “but thanks for the shoe things. They will come in handy.” “This might come in handy, too,” he said, depositing the strap in the laundry room. “Just take it.”

Apparently, I am capable of towing. So far, I have yanked #2 son out of the driveway puddle of horror (recently dubbed “Lake Snowbegone,” a hopeful moniker), and a ditch hiding under a snow bank, next to the parking area of our rental cottage. After the first episode, as he left for work, I texted him instructions not to come back into the driveway (I barely bucked my way out of it in the big-ass truck), but to please park in the cottage drive, since the tenants are conveniently in Tortola. How he ended up somewhere other than where he was told to go is beyond me. That never happens, except for always. But since it’s Happy Hate Month, I must remind myself of Resolution #1: appreciate small victories. I can tow! I dare not get into the shower and PJ’s, lest my services are needed again this evening. But towing? I’ve got that down.

3.7.15   Abundant sunshine this morning, which will no doubt melt the driveway into a deadly anaconda of slush. I texted a friend for help yesterday, and because he is the Best Man in the World, he snuck over here and plowed the level down a bit, then dashed off before I could pay him. But the low spots are still essentially icy pits of quicksand, and will remain until we undergo some serious evaporation. Where is that horrible March wind when I need it? Maybe I can search the South Florida Autotrader online for a swamp buggy. What would shipping be on that?

I decided to take the three dogs for a walk to Nobadeer, thinking that the exercise and fresh air would be relaxing. Suffice it to say that was not the case, and the experience was unpleasant (a gentle term for what was far beyond awful, but I’m really trying to remain positive here). I haven’t yelled that much in a decade, which made me realize I must have been a terrible parent. I almost lost a dog, one of the borrowed shoe-things, and a leash, were it not for the generous grace of the universe. Resolution #5: I will not be tempted into adopting a third dog.

3.8.15   This particular Sunday is my least favorite day of the year, and it’s appropriate that it happens during my least favorite month. Daylight Savings Time, a cruel abomination of nature (IMHO), was created by sick, twisted beings that had no grasp on reality. I will now spend the next six-plus months being late, feeling rushed, and generally disgruntled. There is no reasonable point to this torture, and the fact that people I actually know are celebrating it on Facebook is beyond comprehension. Hawaii does not participate in this silliness, which is another good reason to reconsider moving there (my driveway in winter being the first good reason). Daylight Savings ends November 1, and that will be a very good day indeed, though others will inevitably grumble about dark afternoons. I wait with baited breath…

3.10.15   As of yesterday afternoon, a pump has been installed in Lake Snowbegone. We’ll need a bit more morning thaw before I plug it in for the day. should I wish to leave the property, I must execute a delicate maneuver on the lawn, without bumping into the house, to turn the big ass truck around, or else I run over the pump. This is a great excuse to stay home.

I did get out and about yesterday, in the sunshine, and it felt lovely. I drove around with my window open, marveling at how warm 44 degrees could actually feel. Today, maybe a sunbath is in order, if the clouds cooperate. I need my rest for tomorrow, when I take up the battle for a French Dip once more. Perhaps DST will work in my favor, and the confused foe will arrive late. Hope springs eternal, even during Hate Month.

3.11.15   Game day, 9:51 a.m. Should I just head out to the farm now with a lawn chair, to sit in line for some of those sandwiches? I could probably call and reserve a couple, but that would spoil the adventure. Plus the lunch special email hasn’t arrived yet. I could dash out there to find it’s Shrimp Po’ Boys instead. But I’m not exactly dashing anywhere, still an hour behind in my mind. The leisurely aspect of winter, in these last days before my outdoor work commences, is something I intend to enjoy like fine cognac (if I actually drank the stuff) … warming the glass in my hand, inhaling the nutty perfume, and sipping, very, very slowly. For as traumatic as all this snow has been, I have savored every minute of time to myself, with only the basic needs of life to meet. Aside from the complications of Lake Snowbegone, and efforts to remain upright on ice, the simplicity of winter life on Nantucket has been a blessing, even in March.

The confirmation, via email, has arrived. Time to spring into action, and brush my teeth. Fast forward to 11:30 a.m., when I arrived at Bartlett’s and completed my mission. The sweet smell of success wafted through my truck as I drove home: melted provolone and beef broth. I rewarded my efforts with a slice of lemon meringue pie, well deserved. Since today’s predicted rain is now unpredicted on my weather sites, I wade into Lake Snowbegone to set up the pump. I do not fall into the icy water. The sun is shining. Number 2 son will be pleased when he returns to his refrigerator-congealed sandwich tomorrow (really, they’re that good). The birds are singing. Life is beautiful. Next week, we celebrate our just reward: the NCAA Tornament! I’ve plied my ex with homemade soup to get his read on this year’s top contenders. I’ve booked someone to fix the driveway if it ever manages to dry out (go pump go!). We are surviving this, people; mud be damned. Happy Hate Month, and I mean it this time. Resolution #6: March is not so bad after all! Forty-four (degrees) is the new sixty! Keep smiling!