January 29, 2009

• What a TRIP!

  I’m so glad to be home.

  I got up at the crack of dawn today, dipped some hot water from the big pot on the woodstove, poured it into a dishpan on a stool in front of the stove, and added a dipper of snow from the bucket beside me to cool the water a bit.  I had already gathered up towels, soap, shampoo and stuff, so I stripped down to the waist and dunked my hair in the pan on the stool.  Lather, rinse, repeat until it’s squeaky clean, then I stripped the rest of the way down and started all over with fresh water for the skin.

  Doug had been up all night, keeping the fire going, so it was warm there by the stove.  It’s the first time in a long time I actually had a pleasant stand-up bath there.  In warm weather, I use the SunShower, and most of the time when I’m bathing by the woodstove, it’s uncomfortably chilly.  Not this time.  I got all clean, and Doug said that while I was gone he would put clean sheets on my bed, the one we take turns sleeping in through the winter so we can keep the fire going and stay warm.  Sweet!

  Doug had gotten the front doors open on my car, but both rear doors and the hatch were frozen shut, and we had to do some contorting and exerting to stow half a dozen boxes and bags of books, videos, and various things in the back seat so I could take them to Wasilla and give them to Greyfox.  Most had come from him in the first place.  He helps us stay informed and entertained.  So sweet!

  As prearranged, I phoned Greyfox just before leaving home so he would know when to expect me.  I sometimes wonder what I might surprise him at, if I ever showed up unexpectedly.  Before I could get out the door, he called me back to say it had started to snow there.  I said, “…yes??…”  He stumbled a bit before saying he thought I might want to change my plans.  The weather guessers had said it was going to snow tomorrow.  I told Greyfox the snow just gave me that much more reason to get in there today and get it over with.

  Somehow, in all the contorting and exerting to load the gear into the car, one of us had knocked the 4 wheel drive selector out of the notch, and I didn’t notice I only had front wheel drive until I was on the highway.  I had sorta wondered why I’d spun my wheels so much getting out of the driveway.  Back in 4-wheel, the trip was uneventful except for the cold.  I do love Blur, my souped-up old Subaru wagon, but his heater is anemic.  I was dressed warmly, but even in gloves my fingers got numb.   I made two quick stops in Willow:  at the library to drop of a book, and at the post office to pick up some Nintendo DS accessories Doug had ordered from Amazon.  That’s where I noticed that my nose was glowing from the cold.

  I was behind impaired drivers on both portions of the down-valley run.  Into Willow, it was someone pulling a trailer probably impaired by inexperience, over-steering, braking on downslopes and while entering curves, swinging that trailer all over the place.  I hung back and watched.  Then, from Houston to Greyfox’s cabin, it was someone doing many of the things people do when intoxicated:  wide turns, speed erratic and generally slower than the traffic flow, drifting onto the shoulder and into the oncoming lane, then jerking back in line… impaired, indeed.

  It was good to see my husband again, and by all indications the feeling was mutual.  After I defrosted my nose and fingers and we hugged and kissed and stuff, and he showed me his new antique revolver, we stowed in my car some half-cases of pop he’d gotten on sale and been keeping for us.  After my darlin’ opened the stuck-frozen hatch and did his Mighty Mouse impression, the pop cases made a flat foundation for the rest of the day’s purchases.

  Then we went to breakfast.  We had a pleasant day shopping together, neither of us in more than minimal pain.  Greyfox even got one of the rear doors open at one of the supermarket stops, making loading and unloading much easier.  It went smoothly, but it was a long day.  We were both tired and hungry and it was dark and snowing heavily by the time I left him at his place and stopped for fuel before heading home.

  It has been twenty years since the last time I was that interested in the mileposts along that road.  I was taking my gloves off one at a time, and warming my fingers on my neck most of the way.   I started counting the miles when I was 36 miles from home.  The snow was so heavy in my headlights that I was keeping it on the road by watching the berm and ditch on one side and the ridge of snow along the center line on the other.  Forget about lane markings.  There weren’t even tire tracks to follow, the snow was coming down so hard.  Many road signs were obscured by sticky snow, too. 

  When an 18-wheeler went by in the other direction, I was completely blind in the cloud it was pulling behind it.  For an instant, when I could see again, I was happy that it had blown the snow off my lane and I could actually see the road.  Then my tires slipped and I realized that the snow had been giving me traction and the road surface was ice. 

  I stayed focused on the task at hand, mostly interested in avoiding frostbite, skids, moose, oncoming traffic and the ditch.  Traffic was sparse, mostly going along sedately as I was, but I was passed at one point by somebody in a newish little car, going maybe 15 or 20 MPH faster than me.  Up the road a few miles there was a newish little car off the side of the road in deep snow, doors open, lights on, and driver standing beside it looking over his predicament.  I sighed and turned my attention back to the road.

  I made it home… obviously.  Turning off the highway onto our back road, slowing and switching on my high beams, suddenly the beauty of it all hit me — the fresh snow, the stillness, trees and not much else.  I live in such a gorgeous place!  I’m really glad to be home.  The groceries have been schlepped into the house and properly stowed, and I have eaten my fill.  Doug is putting the clean sheets on the bed as I sit here at the keyboard.  I’ll be between them before you read this.
  

  • 3:50 am
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