Clearing

I did shovel and it was okay, a workout, surely. After that, I left a half-hour before school started to drive A in. It usually takes about 10 minutes, but it doubled in the snow. The piles on the unplowed road were up above my bumper, and I felt myself skidding and sliding far more than my nerves could handle. After dropping A off, I ran off to the car, anxious to get home and pack for our trip to Montebello.

We just returned. It was heaven to be there, to be away, to be in love, to be lazy and indulgent. I read Vanity Fair and Quebec Elle and Vogue. I read about Sean Parker and Lindsay Lohan and their incredibly priviledged lives and how they "party." What does it mean to "party" anyway? I realize I'm no partier . . . neither is E, thankfully, although I do have the distinction of one particularly famous Canadian writer calling me a " bon vivant." Perhaps, I am that. Maybe that's the only thing that saves me from being completely felled by the particularly icy environment I'm currently attempting to navigate.