Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Slowly getting there

My computer is back. Huzzah. Apparently it was the worst virus the medic has ever seen. That sounds par for the course around here. I needed a new hard drive, so my husband put in Windows 7, and now I don't know how to do anything on it. I need to learn how to get my photos off my camera. I hate having to learn something new when the previous way worked perfectly fine. Do I sound old yet?

So, no pictures. I hate blogging without pictures. To me, the pictures are half the fun, but I was getting anxious leaving this space dormant for so long.

March is here. Huzzah! Although, I actually don't like March all that much. It seems like the weather should be nicer because the days are longer and the sun is stronger, but it's not warm enough yet. No budding trees, no sprouting daffodils. We are in a holding pattern, waiting for spring to land. The sidewalks are so treacherous in the mornings this time of year. During the day, the snow starts to melt, but at night the temperature dips below freezing, so all the melted snow turns the sidewalks into an ice rink by morning. Walking my daughter to school is a tricky, tricky business.

Yesterday as I navigated the icy patches on my way home, cursing this month of March, I suddenly remembered an ice incident from my childhood. I can't remember how old I was, maybe 7 or 8. It was Easter morning, and I was all dressed up in pink cotton pants and a white blouse. I could see our newspaper down at the end of the driveway, and I wanted to read the comics, so I put on my hard-soled patent leather mary janes to complete my Easter ensemble and headed outside, paying no heed to the fact that the driveway was slick with ice. The minute my fancy shoes hit the driveway I slid all the way down to the street. I had no traction whatsoever. I picked up the newspaper and thought I'd outsmart the driveway by walking back to the house through the snow in the front yard, but the snow was just as ice-covered as the driveway, and I fell into a heap, still in the street. I made a few more attempts to walk to the house, but I only slipped and slid and fell. I realized I was in a predicament, and it terrified me. I screamed for help, but no one in the house heard me. I have overdramatic tendencies (ie: I'm not cool under pressure), and I think I may have become hysterical. I dropped to my hands and knees and tried to crawl up the lawn, but the knees of my pants and the skin on my palms shredded on the ice in the process. I thought I would die of exposure on the front lawn right then and there, but fortunately my dad noticed the spectacle on the lawn and came to my rescue. Once I was inside all safe and sound I was so sad about the demise of my pretty pink pants. I had to put on something else to wear for Easter. I don't remember what I changed into, but I do remember feeling that the substitute outfit was woefully inadequate.

That pretty much sums up March in these parts. You think it's going to be so great and pretty and warm and springy, and you leap out of the house all happy, but you end up on your butt in the ice.