Let’s just say it was one helluva weekend.
All week the weather prognosticators have been predicting a blizzard of biblical proportions. Usually what we get is either a milder storm or it passes us by. So we thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and it would be a drama-free Christmas weekend. We were so wrong.
Christmas Eve, after opening cat toys and dog treats, we were going to bed. My wife had not been feeling well that morning and suddenly got sick after going to bed. As in I now had bedding to wash. I swapped out the bedding while she staggered into the bathroom and then I tucked her into a newly made bed.
Christmas day the snow fall was light but steady. My wife had baked two pies, sugar cookies, a HUGE 5 quart potato dish, and a double recipe of escalloped corn for dinner at my cousin’s. We also brought the two dogs. They usually behave quite well when visiting and we figured it was going to be more of the same. Pippin walked into the house and immediately did a territorial pissing. And after I cleaned it up he did another. Then Merry puked on the carpet. Then she threw up three times in rapid succession, all onto my wife’s winter coat. So I rushed them home. Hmm. Snow was still falling.
Dinner was just after four. Someone had looked out the window and remarked that “wow, it’s still coming down”. Someone else speculated that we were going to lose yet another big name celebrity this year and I agreed. An hour later my cousin’s son looks at his phone, “Holy shit, George Michael died!” As the kids say these days, I can’t even.
At six pm I decided to drive home and let out the dogs. I was wearing slippers over my socks because I just had to take them off going back and forth between houses. Except now I stepped out into snow halfway up my shins. Still I got home and let the dogs out. They seemed to be OK. I switched to my old snowmobile boots and went back to the party.
We played a marathon game of Wise and Otherwise as the winds picked up, stuffing ourselves on sweets, Pink Squirrels, and pie. Oh it was glorious. At ten pm I went out to fire up the Family Truckster and somehow the snow had drifted up around the front end of the vehicle and on the hood was a drift that was level with its roof. Picture that. A two and a half foot snow drift on the hood. I pushed a good share of it off, and determined we could back out the driveway (if I gunned the engine). We slammed our way to the street and then drove home, through drifts and very very low visibility. I hit our own driveway at an unsafe speed and forced the Truckster down the long driveway into the garage. My wife waded through a three foot drift to the back door while I waded across the backyard to the deck. I knew I had to dig out a path again for the dogs. The wind was a gentle twenty-five mph. Hah!
I managed to carve out something for the dogs. The snow was up to mid-thigh. The f-word might have been fucking used. Carjo opened the sliding door from the inside and we threw the dogs out. I looked around and it appeared that neither had any accidents. Then I heard an outcry from the living room. Merry had vomited on both the love seat and couch. I cleaned it up. Carjo staggered into bed, still not feeling her best. I sat down on the bed in the man cave. There was more vomit on the carpet there. And my hand came up wet from the bed. I sniffed it. Pippin had left a “statement pee” on the bed.
How was your Christmas?