There we were. Trapped and motionless. Each in our metal tomb. Packed tight in the roadway like individually wrapped meat sticks that you find on the counter at a gas station.
The GPS had changed my course midway, taking me what I thought was a longer way around. But I figured it was for a good reason. After all, it was below zero and somehow snowing like crazy. You don't expect that kind of snow when it's that cold. It just doesn't seem possible. But here it was, -3 and blowing snow this way and that.
So I took the 94 East exit instead of 94 West because my phone told me to. Then we slowed almost immediately to a crawl, all of us funneling onto 94 with the rest of the traffic. I craned my neck and could see past the banked ramp that there was an inordinate amount of traffic already on 94. And I realized they were barely moving.
From behind, an ambulance with lights flashing and siren blaring whipped past. I thought, "How do they keep from slipping and sliding like the rest of us?" It didn't seem possible that they drove as fast as they did and didn't whip around and into a ditch. But they didn't and they disappeared into the tunnel.
We inched forward, and I do mean inched. I was getting frustrated and impatient. 10 minutes went by and we were still at a standstill. This really couldn't be how my Saturday began. My plan was to make it to my writing group, then out for coffee. Later, I was planning on going to the gym and then spend the rest of the day doing what I wished. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. I didn't really care. The weather was not going to allow a carefree day, that's for sure.
We all descended into the tunnel at a snail's pace. It was maddening. The tunnel curved to the left so you couldn't see the end of it until you were more than halfway through it. Before even that halfway point, I noticed red and blue flashes of light reflecting off the shiny surface of the inside of the tunnel. I wondered how bad it was and would we ever get through this.
I looked at my phone and saw that writing group had started and I wasn't even halfway there yet. "Fuck it!" I yelled and decided that, upon first chance, I was going to turn around and just go home. There was no use in continuing to try to make it in time to have any time to write.
Monday, January 28, 2019
Saturday, January 12, 2019
Free Assoc 1-12-19 - OPEN
Prompt: Open
She sat in the chair she'd inherited from her grandmother and stared out the window, steaming mug of tea warming her hands. The fog was burning off in the late morning sun and the trees on the facing mountain were becoming visible. This was her favorite time of day. When the dream of day awakened and rubbed the sleep from its eyes. This cabin she'd been coming to for 40 years was a refuge for her. There were countless memories attached to it. Laughter, tears, anger, peace, and mostly love. Every family member had left a piece of themselves here. She could look at any object, any spot inside or outside, and a vision of the past played itself in her mind. She smiled one of those Mona Lisa smiles. The kind where the eyes are slightly sad but a gentle joy turned the corners of the lips upward. After what seemed like hours, she roused herself up out of the comfort of her grandmother and began to think about how to spend the day.
She was up here alone. She was always alone lately. Even though the wound of divorce was fresh, she relished her time, solitary and silent. All of the things she'd had around her as extensions of her self had peeled away over a short period of time. It left her naked and aware. She'd always been adaptable. As family members had drifted away or passed on during her lifetime, she'd taken all in stride quite easily. She allowed a grieving and sadness but also remembered to tuck a little part of them around her beating heart so each would be there at any time of need. This was comfort to her. Others in her life found it slightly odd, but that was her way of moving on, stepping forward and continuing along her path.
She'd walked with her great grandfather yesterday morning, along the path that descended from the modest cabin he'd built with his own two hands to the stream below. This never-ending supply of sweet, clear, icy water had always allowed the family to remain self sufficient in this place. It still ran strong to this day. She'd made several trips up and down to collect the water she would need for the day. This was always how she remembered starting the day, even as a small child in her earliest memories. Her bucket was red plastic, not galvanized steel like the grownups, but she put the work in and brought up what she was able to as a 5 year old, an 8 year old, then she graduated to two buckets at a time, one red and one larger blue one, until she was finally old enough, strong enough, to carry the steel buckets. She struggled with two at a time but she was determined to proved herself just as capable as her parents, cousins, distant uncles of whom she'd never been aware. The progression of time and the evolution of her life and family could be told by the trips to the stream. She chuckled about that and looked out over the expanse of trees as she talked to the ghost of her great grandfather, her hero. Then she brought those last two galvanized steel buckets up the footpath to the cabin and began her morning ritual of splashing her face and making her tea.
She sat in the chair she'd inherited from her grandmother and stared out the window, steaming mug of tea warming her hands. The fog was burning off in the late morning sun and the trees on the facing mountain were becoming visible. This was her favorite time of day. When the dream of day awakened and rubbed the sleep from its eyes. This cabin she'd been coming to for 40 years was a refuge for her. There were countless memories attached to it. Laughter, tears, anger, peace, and mostly love. Every family member had left a piece of themselves here. She could look at any object, any spot inside or outside, and a vision of the past played itself in her mind. She smiled one of those Mona Lisa smiles. The kind where the eyes are slightly sad but a gentle joy turned the corners of the lips upward. After what seemed like hours, she roused herself up out of the comfort of her grandmother and began to think about how to spend the day.
She was up here alone. She was always alone lately. Even though the wound of divorce was fresh, she relished her time, solitary and silent. All of the things she'd had around her as extensions of her self had peeled away over a short period of time. It left her naked and aware. She'd always been adaptable. As family members had drifted away or passed on during her lifetime, she'd taken all in stride quite easily. She allowed a grieving and sadness but also remembered to tuck a little part of them around her beating heart so each would be there at any time of need. This was comfort to her. Others in her life found it slightly odd, but that was her way of moving on, stepping forward and continuing along her path.
She'd walked with her great grandfather yesterday morning, along the path that descended from the modest cabin he'd built with his own two hands to the stream below. This never-ending supply of sweet, clear, icy water had always allowed the family to remain self sufficient in this place. It still ran strong to this day. She'd made several trips up and down to collect the water she would need for the day. This was always how she remembered starting the day, even as a small child in her earliest memories. Her bucket was red plastic, not galvanized steel like the grownups, but she put the work in and brought up what she was able to as a 5 year old, an 8 year old, then she graduated to two buckets at a time, one red and one larger blue one, until she was finally old enough, strong enough, to carry the steel buckets. She struggled with two at a time but she was determined to proved herself just as capable as her parents, cousins, distant uncles of whom she'd never been aware. The progression of time and the evolution of her life and family could be told by the trips to the stream. She chuckled about that and looked out over the expanse of trees as she talked to the ghost of her great grandfather, her hero. Then she brought those last two galvanized steel buckets up the footpath to the cabin and began her morning ritual of splashing her face and making her tea.
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