Norris and Layne

Walking downstairs this morning to start my car, I step off the bottom step into snow up to my knees. Oh yeah. It’s gonna be a good, good day. 

Maggie and I get to our car as the owner of my place is making a round with the snow plow. I love this man. And his wife. His window rolled down, he yells, “you need to sell that thing and get a Subaru!” Can’t afford it, I tell him. This one’s paid for. Maybe Santa will bring me one...we both laugh. 

I brush off my car, Maggie takes care of business (while wearing her GPS tracker and beeper collar), and we return upstairs. Gathering up all my crap for the day (I’m too tired for five- and ten-dollar words tonight, it’s crap), I head back down, ready for work. I’m praying my paid for 2009 Honda Accord, with the bright red check engine light shining, will shimmy over the snow. I drop it to first gear, praying again, saying hail Mary’s like I’m Catholic, and gently nudge the accelerator. Oh, dear Saint Frances, I start to spin a little. I learned early in Jackson not to spin. Brake, back up, let’s try again. Maybe if I get a running start, NASCAR my Honda...I didn’t have to NASCAR, angels were pushing my baby out and away from the bank of snow. 

Sweet owner was making another round with the snowplow. I roll my window down, grinning from ear to ear, and brag, “See, I don’t need a Subaru, my Honda did just fine, and I don’t even have snow tires.” He’s grinning, telling me to get out of the way.

Or something.