This morning it's eight degrees and snowing -- and the Mystery Woman just left with her 89-year-old mother for a check-up.
Roads are slick.
And they prefer I stay home with the dog. It seems I scream a lot in the car.
Yesterday, we had to drive across town to visit a different clinic. For the first time, I got to see the industrial strength of winter. Parking lots look like ice rinks or pools of toxic waste. Arthritis comes easy. True story: A TV reporter strapped on skates and played in the street.
We ate lunch at Chili's, which was decorated with Chilympiad stuff. Naturally, I tried to get a discount from the waitress, claiming to be the their only customer who had actually gotten drunk in Terlingua. "Nice try, old timer," she said.
In this order, we’ve had snow, snow, snow, rain, a little sleet, more snow, even more. The wind chill is serious. Minus 30 tonight. That plays hell with clean up. Ice becomes iron and is forged to the minor streets and major sidewalks. Major thoroughfares, however, are mostly clear.
This morning, I read a neat thing in the paper. They say if you toss a pan of hot water in the air, it will freeze before it hits the ground. (Didn't work.) In Texas summers, we reverse the ritual by frying eggs on sidewalks. (That doesn't work, either.)
Dog trainers advise against buying a winter puppy from the Midwest. They claim the dogs will never again go outside to answer nature’s call.
But still, I kinda like it. Locals nod knowingly and whisper to each other something about my attitude next March.
It could be worse. I could have voted for Dick Cheney.