The problem is that the area at the end of my driveway never completely dries up, even under the best of circumstances. (Well, thatís not entirely true. In July, which is a best-case-scenario month for these things, itís dry.) It lies in the shade cast by two eucalyptus groves, one on each side, and it stays cold and wet there pretty much all winter.
And now this. In every other winter that Iíve lived here, there have been ruts and depressions that have collected the water. It wasnít pleasant, but I was able to walk around it and drive through it without much of a problem. Now, thanks to our neighborhood Samaritan, the holes are gone, replaced by a slab of loose-shaped, oozing mud. I canít walk through it without sinking up over the ankles of my boots. And Iím a little bit afraid to try to drive through it.
Today was another in our endless string of holidays, so I didnít have to drive out. Tomorrow is another story. I have mail that has to go out, and I havenít picked up anything at the post office since Friday. I also need groceries, but mostly I need to get away from here, if only for a few minutes. Half an hour, maybe. An hour, tops. I just donít know if Iím going to make it.
Adding to my worries (and Iím a mess with worries) is that front tire that the guy at Saturn told me a couple of weeks ago wasnít low. To me, it looks low. To me, it looks a little lower every time I look at it, and I fully intend to drive it to a gas station and pump it up, come hell or— well, come hell. High water is a given.