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Saturday, January 21, 2006

Itís one thing for my landlord to promise heís going to take care of my muddy driveway this weekend. Itís quite another thing to sit around all weekend waiting for it to happen. I waited for some action for so long today, I began to wonder if maybe theyíd been out there with the tractor before I even got up this morning.

But no, when I drove out to D.J.ís basketball game this afternoon, it was worse than ever. Thatís really saying something, but itís no exaggeration. It was absolutely the muddiest itís been since the New Yearís Eve storm. I think it rained some in the night, but not enough to justify those kinds of conditions.

I actually feared for my life. Okay, not actually. But I had a sinking sensation as I drove through the mud, and I felt a big relief when I came out the other side.

When I got home from the game I was a little more composed and serene, having already made it through once today. But still, itís kind of intimidating to look at a mud bog and wonder how many times my car will have to negotiate it. Not to mention when my landlord will follow through on his promise to take care of it.




7 January 2006

Escaping clouds.



After I got home, and just before dark, I pulled on my boots and walked out to check my mail. I knew there would be no mail. There had been no mail in my box for three days in a row, and itís now clear that itís not an oversight. The carrier is deliberately avoiding my driveway. But I had to check, because if Iím going to ask the postal carrier to make it through the mud, I canít do it unless Iím willing and able to make it through myself.

Monday Iíll check in with the postmaster and see what theyíre doing with my mail. Or maybe Tuesday, if I think the mail truck will have an easier time after my landlord takes care of the mud tomorrow, as promised.




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Stuff

D.J.ís team regressed a little this week. They played very well last Saturday, and they had a great practice Wednesday, but today they played as if theyíd never seen a basketball before, much less a basketball game. Donít tell these six-year-olds, but it was hilarious and entertaining. They were stumbling over themselves and running into each other and passing the ball to nobody and shooting impossible shots and forgetting which basket was whose, and they still lost only 28-16. The effort was there, and the energy was there. But the clue? Missing in action.

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