We broke our homebound streak today by venturing out and using our saucers on a closed street. We went to this same street about five years ago, when Seattle had a heavy snowfall–albeit not as crazy as this one–and Mike arrived at our small apartment with two plastic saucers in hand and deranged idea to fling our bodies down a snowy hill on a round disc. I humored Mike enough to follow him to that hilltop with other people who had similar snow travel equipment like sleds, lunch trays and overturned ironing boards.
We only managed two rounds down the hill before cars started to drive *around* the CLOSED DO NOT ENTER signs posted at both ends of the street and zooming past us and the other sledders and their children.
I’m not mad at these drivers, though, normally I would have shaken my fist at them or at least hippie-scowled at their windows like, why are you harshing my mellow, maaaaan? But I simply scooped Nathan and scurried through the snow and back on the sidewalk and we headed for our car. I wasn’t mad because we all pay taxes and our taxes pay for the roads that we should be able to drive on, not so that my husband and I can partake in some winter follies.
Wow, that was a really healthy statement. I have been cooped up for too long.
Of course, I take all that back if you’re *this* guy driving drunk down the Queen Anne counterbalance and misfiring f-bombs at all the people enjoying the snow.