I'm feeling nostalgic about the days when I could go for a walk without bringing my cell phone to call for help. I assume I will eventually end up in a prone position on a patch of ice with Scotty licking my face, mistakenly assuming that it's the medically approved form of treatment for a broken femur. Annie would be scanning the horizon for a new owner.
Today's pedestrian forecast is slush and snow, with frequent periods of wet ice and broken coccyxes. Cocci. Coccyi.
Normally, our neighborhood walks have ice-free sidewalks and/or roads, although the neighborhoods display several distinct personalities, from rural to seventies-era ranch house developments to McMansionlands which branch out into their own gated UltraMcManse Estates (so the McMansionland home owners have someone to envy).
The following two scenes occur within a half-mile of each other. There's the three-car-garage land here:
...go a quarter-mile, take a left turn, walk a few paces and you have a dairy farm with a helpful sign. Watch out for slow farmers with cows on their heads.
Beyond the pasture is a big drop-off that ends in some wetlands and then the Columbia River. The hills in the background are in Oregon.
This week, I have been limited to the road to the park and back, with my eyes pasted to the road for safety. But the Big Thaw is in process, so I don't have much longer to wait.
Oh, and did I mention that the Most Expensive Heat Pump of All is broken again, on account of the snow and ice? Yeah, it's belly-up again. Yeah, I'm wearing a sweater. Next time, I'm telling everybody the make and the contractor.
That'll put the fear of nothing into 'em.