The snow falls. For so many people, it is magical and beautiful, heralding outdoor fun or a reason to light a fire in the fireplace and cozy up with quilts and good books.
For me, it ushers in a new season of tension headaches, teeth grinding, and moments where I forget to breathe. Because this California-raised girl is no snow driver. And I certainly don't cherish the hours I spend with the road warriors on slippery roads, all of whom are in various states of reckless urgency about arriving on time.
This weekend, on the way to work, as I was about to merge onto a snow-packed busy road, it seemed I could have cued up the movie music as a caravan of snowplows came around a curve and were going to blaze a trail.
Knights in painted orange, I am so grateful to see you, I almost forget to turn when you don't.
Your early-morning rounds are the biggest reason I'm not stuck in a gutter just blocks from my house.
Because even on a Saturday, we still have places we need to be. On time.