Home of the Snarkmaiden

Boxing Day at home. Last night we went out to see a movie -- The Tale of Desperaux, as it turns out, because my argument that "It isn't really Christmas without Nazis" fell on deaf ears -- but were foolish enough to take out my car. Foolish, I say, because our street had turned to slush on top of ice. Driving without chains worked out okay on the drive to the theater -- that's all downhill. It worked okay on the way back, as long as we were on the plowed arterial. Where it did not work so well was trying to get the last 1/8th of a mile up the side streets on our hill where there are only occasional flashes of pavement in the midst of a thick slurry of slush floating on icewater. Basically, I accidentally strayed out of the worn tracks, hit a slick spot two blocks from our house, and wound up completely unable to get traction.

Most of a bag of cat litter and a lot of pushing, swearing, and wheel-spinning later, we managed to get the car as far as our street, but even with the aid of a snow shovel couldn't get the last 100 feet home. So I parked by rolling backward to the edge of the road, and my car is now in front of the neighbor's awaiting thaw or (unlikely) a snowplow.

So while the University is open, I decided that I was not risking a spinal injury in the re-frozen slush slopes of Kent trying to walk down to the train, especially since a partial holiday bus schedule seems to mean that a lot of buses aren't running anyway. Why yes, I probably could walk from Union Station to the U, if need be, but need doesn't.

If perchance this year's winter is a sign of the new cruelty to come, we may have to look into swapping one of the cars for something with 4WD. And snow tires.