Rush, rush, rush, right? Or so I told Matty tonight on the phone. It was good to hear his voice amidst the holiday hullabaloo. We had to make it quick - the store was closing and I had yet to decide, indeed placing me in the Last-Minute-Shopper category. We promised we'd talk soon - and catch each other up on all the news. With that, I picked out a few things, headed to the register and out into the white and drifted snow, (oh!)It seemed like a good idea at the time; to get a little shopping in before the storm hit, but as I approached 215, I felt unsettled. I heard that voice in my head (undeniably my mother's) saying, "Is this such a good idea, Martha?" I almost gave an audible, "No. But..." as I got on the on ramp. I was feeling a bit nervous, too, but...
When I pulled my scarf tight as I stepped out into the wind-gusted parking lot, post-gift purchase, I heard the voice again. As I glanced up into the stormy night sky, my eyelashes filtering snowflakes, I swear I could see my mother looking back at me with her famous 'told-ya-so glare. I grabbed the scraper out of the car and quickly dusted off Jack's Frost's latest evidence, the last of which landed on my lap after I got in the car and shook my head. I turned on the heater full-blast and put the car in forward to face The Storm. It looked bad. Maybe Mom was right.
The freeway looked dangerous, but The-Sooner-The-Better Side won the argument in my head (freeway instead of side streets) and out I ventured, at a whopping 30 mph, onto the very freeway which had seemed o.k. forty minutes earlier. With the push of a button, the carols were silenced and I was literally all eyes and all hands on deck, wipers full-speed ahead, still not fast enough to keep up with Feisty Jack Frost. The ride home was going to be slow and silent. Let's add slippery and make that "s" sentence deuce a trio. We could round it off to an even four and say scary, but shh...don't tell The Mom in the Moon. (She already told me so).
I passed one exit-full of an assemblage of slippers and sliders, grateful not to find myself in the mix. It was adios to the freeway and hello scenic route, although I knew it would add time to my travels. At this point, if I had dared, I would have shed my scarf and coat, seeing as I had worked up quite the sweat trying not to slip slide away. My eyes peeled and my knuckles white, I forged slowly on. I was on silent prayer number seven when I slid right through the stop light by The Cotton Bottom. Luckily, there was no one to be found. (Apparently everyone else obeys their mother). Holladay Blvd. was clear as day (no cars) and as white and wintry as I've ever seen it. My knuckles let go of the steering wheel and my shoulders loosened. I dialed the Roomies to tell them I'd be a while, shouting on speaker-phone. M said she had just been out at her brother's and that I should take my time. I hung up and held tight. All I could see was snow. All I could hear was wind. It was as eerie as it was beautiful.
At this point in the drive, I took note of my geographical surroundings as best I could. Visibility was at an all-time low. If my car were to take a sudden spin into the cottonwood trees, I could call on the G. family. They'd take me in. Sure, W has been married for over a year, but I know her mom would feed me M&M's and hot cocoa and W's dad would could pull me out with one of his state-of-the-art winter tow toys in no time. I passed Hillsden Drive without incident. Next up, Aunt B. If my engine went out, I could hike my way up to Wander Lane. If I landed (stranded) North of 45th, I'd spend the night with Aunt B. For sure. If I happened to slid south of there into Cottonwood creek, I could call on Lar-Dawg B. Lori's all for helping the homeless. Plus, she's so much fun, we'd probably stay up all night chatting the storm away and make a snowman at sun up! I was beginning to think that my Near-Death-Donner-Party Experience (kidding) wasn't half bad! I passed both the B's and the N's safe and sound. The list went on from there: the M's, the J's, Bishop H, K and I...Oh! I felt so loved. Even if I was found frozen in my gift-filled car, at least I'd know I had lots of friends and my family would (no doubt) be able to divvy up the packages.
As I approached 2100 east, my heart began to settle. The home stretch. If, by chance, my car couldn't muster enough spirit to make it all the way up Bryan, Wheetie would save, for Wheetie always saves. Cinnamon Santas, chocolate kisses, crumbly, gooey, goodies for all. I decided that if my car stopped mid-way between my house and hers, I'd pick Wheetie's, hands down. And not just for the treats. She's like my second Mom. Her house smells as much like home as my own.
Needless to say, here I sit, safe and sound in the YBH, my space-heater warming my feet, typing away. All in all, I was scared. I won't lie. It wasn't exactly smooth sailing. I'll remember this the next time I want to feel part of the Holiday Hubbub. I'll grab my fleece blanket, a book and my tea and sit and sip (grateful to not be slipping). I'll watch the snowflakes silently falling and think of all my hospitable friends between here and Interstate 215.
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