Because I listen to the chief meteorologists, I figured I had plenty of time to fritter away this morning before going to town for my 44 oz. Diet Coke. But just to be on the safe side, I planned to go around 8:00. After all, the gist of my weather-watching experience was that down here, we wouldn't get much of anything until at least 1:00, and maybe after 4:00. My mom, a more cautious woman, decided to stay home from church, just in case.
Not-heaven's bells! The minute I went up the driveway, sleet started sluicing down. I figured that since T-Hoe's mirror-thermometer said it was 34 degrees, I could make it to Mom's and back to deliver her some beans and ham and corn muffins and fortune cookies. She worries about being snowed in, and hadn't made a trip for bread and milk.
By the time I hit the county road, all had turned to rain. The roads were clear as a successfully-intervened addict's eyes. I decided to run in Save A Lot for some non-stick cooking spray. I also threw in two onions for Mom, in case she was out, and some hickory barbecue sauce for me, because I like it and I always forget that I need some in the pantry. When I came out of the store five minutes later, sleet was again sluicing. I got to the dead-mouse-smelling post office, and the temp dropped to 33, 32, 31. It was almost as fast as in The Day After Tomorrow. I passed the lake and started down the several-mile hill of Old Hillmomba Road. Sleet was starting to build up on T-Hoe's windshield and hood. In the next town, the grass was already white. I called Mom so she wouldn't worry. "I'm about five minutes away. I'm almost to your church. The temperature has just dropped, so I think I have some time." I didn't think so at all. But I didn't want to disappoint Mom. I was determined to be the eight-dollar daughter today.
Mom told me not to come, but I reminded her that I was almost there. Oh. She forgot that part. So on I went. The road became covered. T-Hoe never put a four-wheel-drive tire wrong. I chugged up Mom's hill. Turned into her downward-facing driveway. There she was, in the front yard with a red-yellow-blue paneled umbrella. It was almost as eerie as those white-gowned mental patients milling aimlessly about the grounds in the nighttime rain in the original Halloween. I handed her the bag of goodies through the window, and watched to make sure she didn't slip on her porch. Once she was safely inside, I hit the road. It was even worse. I did, however, take time out to grab a sausage biscuit and hash brown for each of my men before hitting the sleet-covered Old Hillmomba Road.
Don't go thinking that in my haste to get safely home, I forsook my 44 oz. Diet Coke. Not-heaven no! The minute I entered the house, Farmer H declared that he was going out to cat around at the flea markets. After eating a sausage biscuit and hash brown, of course.
From there, the day went downhill. Snow sifted down like powdered sugar on a grassy muddy cake. But somebody must have licked that cake, because by 2:00, all the snow had dissolved. Some more built up a bit on grass later in the afternoon, but not on the mud or brick sidewalk.
How dare I wish for a snow day when we are facing two four-day weeks.