Of the first snowfall, and other stuff
We've gotten our first snowfall. Not much, just a trace, but enough to coat the trees in a layer of frosting and get the streets wet. Not icy, just. wet. This is the kind of snowfall I like. It's amazing how a snowfall can motivate children. Hannah was up and bouncing around by 6:45, and Mary was up by 7:00, and was ready for school by 7:30 without any scolding because I promised her that after she was ready she could go out and stomp around the back yard with Judah. So Mary was actually on time for the bus. It's a beautiful thing.
Carl and Big Red got to work OK. Whew! I always freak out a little when a vehicle goes down, and here's why: When I was in high school, my parents owned a full-size Dodge van, and from the day they brought it home, Dad knew something just wasn't right with the engine. So he tinkered and tinkered and tinkered with it, but he never could get it fixed the way he thought it should be. (Therein, perhaps, lies part of the problem.) Anyway, so early one morning I get shaken out of bed by the telephone. There's some guy named "React" on the phone. "React", I found out later, was actually a group of CB'ers who took emergency messages from people and relayed them on to whoever needed the info. So React tells me that my parents called, they're stranded out on I-74, and could I please go get them. Armed with no more information than that, I threw on some clothes, jumped in the car and drove off. It was raining, and I was speeding because I was scared, and on the ramp between I-80 and I-74 I hydroplaned a little. I managed to keep the car under control (no problem) but as I'm coming up one hill I see this dribble of black goo running down the shoulder, and I'm thinking, "Oh, brother, what now?" Then I finally arrive, jump out (in shoes but no socks, with my nightgown sticking out in various places where I couldn't stuff it into my clothes, in the rain) and there's the van, goo running out from underneath, the hood open and Dad fit to be tied. The highway patrol was there, too, helping Dad arrange for a tow truck. Dad growled something at me, then he got in behind the wheel, Mom got in beside him and I crawled into the back seat. (This was a Dodge Colt compact wagon. I'm tall, and there just isn't alot of room back there.) Dad drove Mom to work, and she called John Deere (where Dad worked) to tell them what happened and that Dad had missed his plane and thus his business trip, and Dad drove me home to change for school, then dropped me off at school and went on his way. I'm not sure exactly what happened to the van, but I know the "engine blew up" and it cost $1076 to fix it (and fix it right). So now I get concerned whenever a vehicle goes down. It's not a pretty thing.
But the snow today is pretty, and I think I'll take Candy out (carefully) and get some pictures, in da schnow?!?
Carl and Big Red got to work OK. Whew! I always freak out a little when a vehicle goes down, and here's why: When I was in high school, my parents owned a full-size Dodge van, and from the day they brought it home, Dad knew something just wasn't right with the engine. So he tinkered and tinkered and tinkered with it, but he never could get it fixed the way he thought it should be. (Therein, perhaps, lies part of the problem.) Anyway, so early one morning I get shaken out of bed by the telephone. There's some guy named "React" on the phone. "React", I found out later, was actually a group of CB'ers who took emergency messages from people and relayed them on to whoever needed the info. So React tells me that my parents called, they're stranded out on I-74, and could I please go get them. Armed with no more information than that, I threw on some clothes, jumped in the car and drove off. It was raining, and I was speeding because I was scared, and on the ramp between I-80 and I-74 I hydroplaned a little. I managed to keep the car under control (no problem) but as I'm coming up one hill I see this dribble of black goo running down the shoulder, and I'm thinking, "Oh, brother, what now?" Then I finally arrive, jump out (in shoes but no socks, with my nightgown sticking out in various places where I couldn't stuff it into my clothes, in the rain) and there's the van, goo running out from underneath, the hood open and Dad fit to be tied. The highway patrol was there, too, helping Dad arrange for a tow truck. Dad growled something at me, then he got in behind the wheel, Mom got in beside him and I crawled into the back seat. (This was a Dodge Colt compact wagon. I'm tall, and there just isn't alot of room back there.) Dad drove Mom to work, and she called John Deere (where Dad worked) to tell them what happened and that Dad had missed his plane and thus his business trip, and Dad drove me home to change for school, then dropped me off at school and went on his way. I'm not sure exactly what happened to the van, but I know the "engine blew up" and it cost $1076 to fix it (and fix it right). So now I get concerned whenever a vehicle goes down. It's not a pretty thing.
But the snow today is pretty, and I think I'll take Candy out (carefully) and get some pictures, in da schnow?!?
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