I am moving to Hawaii. Immediately. Provided that I can get my car out, which may or may not be possible. I seem to have an itty bitty snowdrift blocking my garage. It’s about three feet high, and I am typing this from the warmest corner of the house, where I am curled into a small ball and rocking back and forth, humming “You Are My Sunshine.” In a minute I plan to hurl myself out the window–bathrobe and all–to try to get the attention of the plow guy who is neither answering his phone nor stopping at my house.
And then, I’m moving to Hawaii.
Chickadee became concerned, this morning, that we needed to “check on Daddy” and make sure he was okay. So she called him on the phone, and was chatting away, when I overheard this little gem:
“Daddy, that was SILLY! Mama TOLD you not to do that. See? Sometimes your old wife KNOWS THINGS.”
Yes indeed. Now, in addition to feeling trapped and cold, I also feel exceedingly old and wise. Need guidance? Consult the Old Wife. She’s behind the snowbank.