This afternoon, I walked out of the house and I had what back in the day was called “a yard sale.” I was walking to the car to take the kids to school, carrying backpacks, lunchboxes and snowpants. I slipped on black ice, caught some sick air, and then landed with a thud. Backpacks, lunch boxes and snowpants scattered about the driveway; the contents of my purse dumped into a snowbank that Vito had recently yellowed. And it's always great to shout “motherfucker” in front of the children and the lovely retired couple across the street.
We were running late. My pants were caked with melting snow. Inside my head, I was cursing the snow and the cold and the black ice. Then, as I started driving, I focused on the positive. I noticed the trees and the snowy canopy they created over our street. It was an Ansel Adams photo. The Unforgettable Fire video. At least it's pretty, I thought. My positive moment was shattered immediately as the "pretty" trees began raining massive chunks of frozen snow and ice down onto the car, pelting the roof and windshield with such force that the kids started screaming. It was Alfred Hitchcock. I am Legend. I give up.