tavie.com

God. I hope I'm that strong when I'm 89.

It's snowing heavily here. Big, fluffy flakes. Very pretty. And just piling up. I'm lounging on the couch, knitting Tara's mittens, watching The Black Hole, and it occurs to me that shoveling and salting the steps would be nice so that Gina doesn't fall on the steps and break her ass when she gets home. (It takes awhile for these things to occur to me. I grew up in the city.)

Then I hear scrape, scrape, scrape coming right from outside. Peer at the window, thinking, "I hope it's not Edna, I hope it's not Edna"-- of course, it's Edna, out there shoveling the driveway and the sidewalk. Edna is Gina's 89-year-old landlady. Holy crow.

Now, I feel stupid because once again I didn't anticipate the snow, and wore my shoes with the holes in the bottoms instead of my sturdy boots. So I will have cold, wet feet.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:16 PM | shower me with attention