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I'm alive. I'm in Lake Jackson. My toes are still on.
I spent all day wrapping presents, right? Andy called about 7:00 to warn us that there were pileups all down 288 because people don't know how to drive in the snow. I doodled about further till 11:30 when Mama came home from her gig, and we were going to leave for LJ soon after she got there. Well, she wrapped a few of her own presents, we moved plants inside (and I took pictures of the several inches of snow on the hammock, trampoline, and grass), and we called Grandjo's house to determine who was there and what was going on.
Andy had broken down on 288 about 20 miles from Lake Jackson, and David and Allen had gone to get him in Grandjo's van. The van got there, tied the car to the back, and promptly broke down itself. Hank and Chris went to go get them all, but Hank is a notoriously bad navigator, and it took them over two hours; we called David as we were leaving, and we were almost there before Hank, having driven what is usually an hour's drive, but it took... well, the puppy had both pooped and peed in my lap before we got to the conglomeration of cars all flashing their hazard lights (except the van, whose lights didn't work).
We got there as David was jumping the van's battery from Hank's car, and they were all shivering and tromping through the foot-deep snow. They had blankets wrapped around them, and piles of snow were accumulating over the tops and in the folds, and the trees had badly drawn white outlines. The battery charged enough to satisfy a freezing David (Mama lent him her huge fluffy down coat) and we set off in a caravan; Hank drove in front of David, the van towing Andy's car, and we drove behind Andy's car flashing our hazard lights, all at about 15 miles an hour, and we were still 10 miles from Grandjo's house.
Before too long the van died again, and we pulled up next to it to jump it again. Andy's car, however, miraculously recovered, the brake lights glowing indistinguishably through the foot of snow which had fallen over them on the bumper. He went on ahead, while we jumped David and eventually caravanned on. Twenty miles an hour now (Hank had heard us complaining about how David couldn't go any faster than the leader) we got to the last turn before Grandjo's house, onto the narrow subdivision roads with six-foot ditches on either side. A pickup had somehow got between us and David now, and Hank had fallen behind (he made a wrong turn getting off the freeway and we didn't follow him). The guy in the pickup decided he could handle the ditch with his 4-wheel drive, and went around David.
For the last... two miles, maybe? We pushed David in the van. Bumper-to-bumper for real. He steered, and we got him to the driveway where he rolled gently in. We parked behind him, making for another carlength for me to carry all the presents in through the snowdrifts. It took me five trips, barefoot in a pair of urine-sodden pants and with a sore back from wrapping all afternoon.
But we are now here, no one died crushed between two cars trying to get the jumper cables off, and I will make snow angels and take pictures tomorrow (today, I suppose; it's 4:30, now). It looks like a postcard. I guess it's the decade for 100-year weather. First Allison, now this.
I spent all day wrapping presents, right? Andy called about 7:00 to warn us that there were pileups all down 288 because people don't know how to drive in the snow. I doodled about further till 11:30 when Mama came home from her gig, and we were going to leave for LJ soon after she got there. Well, she wrapped a few of her own presents, we moved plants inside (and I took pictures of the several inches of snow on the hammock, trampoline, and grass), and we called Grandjo's house to determine who was there and what was going on.
Andy had broken down on 288 about 20 miles from Lake Jackson, and David and Allen had gone to get him in Grandjo's van. The van got there, tied the car to the back, and promptly broke down itself. Hank and Chris went to go get them all, but Hank is a notoriously bad navigator, and it took them over two hours; we called David as we were leaving, and we were almost there before Hank, having driven what is usually an hour's drive, but it took... well, the puppy had both pooped and peed in my lap before we got to the conglomeration of cars all flashing their hazard lights (except the van, whose lights didn't work).
We got there as David was jumping the van's battery from Hank's car, and they were all shivering and tromping through the foot-deep snow. They had blankets wrapped around them, and piles of snow were accumulating over the tops and in the folds, and the trees had badly drawn white outlines. The battery charged enough to satisfy a freezing David (Mama lent him her huge fluffy down coat) and we set off in a caravan; Hank drove in front of David, the van towing Andy's car, and we drove behind Andy's car flashing our hazard lights, all at about 15 miles an hour, and we were still 10 miles from Grandjo's house.
Before too long the van died again, and we pulled up next to it to jump it again. Andy's car, however, miraculously recovered, the brake lights glowing indistinguishably through the foot of snow which had fallen over them on the bumper. He went on ahead, while we jumped David and eventually caravanned on. Twenty miles an hour now (Hank had heard us complaining about how David couldn't go any faster than the leader) we got to the last turn before Grandjo's house, onto the narrow subdivision roads with six-foot ditches on either side. A pickup had somehow got between us and David now, and Hank had fallen behind (he made a wrong turn getting off the freeway and we didn't follow him). The guy in the pickup decided he could handle the ditch with his 4-wheel drive, and went around David.
For the last... two miles, maybe? We pushed David in the van. Bumper-to-bumper for real. He steered, and we got him to the driveway where he rolled gently in. We parked behind him, making for another carlength for me to carry all the presents in through the snowdrifts. It took me five trips, barefoot in a pair of urine-sodden pants and with a sore back from wrapping all afternoon.
But we are now here, no one died crushed between two cars trying to get the jumper cables off, and I will make snow angels and take pictures tomorrow (today, I suppose; it's 4:30, now). It looks like a postcard. I guess it's the decade for 100-year weather. First Allison, now this.
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