Here is how my vacation buzz died, just five days from its birth.
Tuesday, I was teaching a class on tagline writing. I co-teach at Lesley University, which bought The Art Institute of Boston, and when there are enough students interested in our elective, called Concept to Copy. My partner Steph and I have been doing it for many years, and I really love the kids. It’s fun to connect with students that age, who you don’t have to worry about because they aren’t your own (although I tend to worry about them anyway). This semester Steph is teaching a design class with another teacher, and so only needed me to pop in for two classes. I was prepared, and excited, and left plenty of time to get over to Cambridge, since I had no idea if I would get a parking space, given the snow situation. I went out to my car, which my husband had pulled in the previous night, to accommodate his car, and apparently did a lazy job of. I couldn’t get into the driver’s seat because it was jammed against our hedge. (Thanks, Peter.) I was annoyed, but I wrapped my sleeping bag coat around me and climbed into the passenger’s side and across the middle of the car, hitting my head on the roof. No problem, disaster averted. I began to pull out, but the angle of the car hit the hedge, and apparently my back tire did a nose dive off of a small ice cliff. I tried to drive forward, but no go. I tried to reverse, but all I heard was spinning tires. I got out, in pair of nice boots, the first time I hadn’t been in my North Face lace ups, Yak Traks in place, in months, looking like I was doing the watusi, as I tried to make it to the porch without falling on my face. I searched for the salt, but apparently Peter had used it all and not replaced it. (Thanks again, Peter.) I began digging at the tires, trying to clear some of the evil white stuff that had been building up for a month. I got back into the car, coat dragging behind me, bumped my head again, and once again tried to move, but there was no progress to be had. Again, I got out, did the slip and slide siezure dance, and made my way into the house for my box of Kosher salt. Again, I shoveled, even trying to cut the bushes with my floral clippers (what was I thinking, it was like cutting a can with a nail file). I climbed back into the car, and yes, bumped my head a third time, and did not move the car an inch (THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, PETER). This went on for a full 30 minutes, in an out of the passenger’s side of the car, dig, sweat, swear, slip, repeat. I finally gave in and decided to Uber it, when Steph called and said she could pick me up. By then I was dripping in perspriration, preparing my divorce documents, googling the signs of concussion, and making plans to move to the Caribbean.
The class was great fun. I Ubered home with a hilarious guy, and all we did was bitch about the winter, and laugh. Here’s the thing, life has its own innate ups and downs, shoveling inordinate amounts of snow, worrying about parking, and whether you can even make it down a street without hitting another car, your commute, your roof, your pipes, your sanity, doesn’t have to be part of the equation. This winter, in Boston (and many other places, too), it’s what has taken priority, and that is just stupid. Winter is incredibly inconvenient. It’s like a job now. You know, before your real job. And it’s what killed my totally awesome vacation high dead. And why I will be down on my knees kissing Day Light Savings Time as it sashays into town this Saturday night. Wait for it, wait for it, GRATITUDE.