Wringing in the Season

For the longest time I despaired that autumn would not arrive. It seemed when it finally did the calendar indicated it should be winter. If that stuff on my driveway was any kind of sign from above, winter has put in an appearance.

I went to clear the walks at my in-laws' home and found that the top layer moved fairly easily. However, when snow melts it somehow refuses to reconstitute as flakes. The second trip to clear their walks, I was better prepared. I brought a pickaxe and chipped ice from the driveway and steps. I'm still not convinced anybody with fragile femurs or hips should be trying to negotiate either, but I'm also convinced you can't keep a good man down...possibly a poor choice of words. I figure even the days my father-in-law would rather not go out, it will be preferable to staying in and listening to my mother-in-law tell him exactly why he should go out, how important it is to his health, and for-Heaven's-sake-would-you-please-just-go-get-the-mail-now?

Meanwhile, at the same address, an errant rag found its way into the utility tub at laundry time, so I'm headed over tonight to vacuum water from their basement. I suppose I could just wait on the heater to go out, invite figure skaters in, and sell tickets and mulled cider to make it all a paying venture. But, no. My little voice tells me that for-Heaven's-sake-I-should-just-go-over-and-suck-the-floors-dry. My little voice may not have the greatest clarity, but when it's on...it's on.

There is a moderate shindig planned at Casa Coal-bear tomorrow evening, so this timing leaves something to be desired. I'm supposed to be helping in the massive cleaning effort in my own home. On second thought, given the current stress levels in that abode, this may just be a blessing. Pookums? You're on your own.