My Winter

Shall I write? Hmm...Yes.

Well, hello.
We drove in the snow today down a steep hill and instead of sliding on down to the bottom of the road, Mom tried turning off onto a street half way down and almost drove into the electricity pole, but the van got stuck in a drift instead. I felt pretty silly, because we were blocking the traffic, but not as silly as I always imagined I might feel. While Tasha ran back up the hill to get Mr. B (who's house we'd just left), an old man got out of his car with a snow shovel. Mom opened her door. The man said, "You need to straighten your wheels and reverse." Then he got behind the hood and pushed while Mom reversed timidly. He yelled at her to put some gas into it. I was afraid Mom would run the old man over somehow and I didn't want to take part in killing someone, so I got out. Mr. B with his shovel dug us out and sent us on our way and we slid carefully down the street till we got to the bottom.
It was unspeakably nice of the old man to stop and help, because when Mr. B came, the man hurried to his car, saying, "I have to be somewhere." Which made me feel awful, because I don't stop to help people, and most especially not when I'm going someplace.
Something to think about.

We crawled silently home through unshoveled roads and as we pulled into our street, Pete was coming out in his black Ford. Mom rolled down her window and so did Pete. "Hey," she said. "Where are going in this weather?" I grinned at him out the window. He really is funny. "I'm going to buy a birthday gift for my grandson." Mom laughed. "Then," Pete said, "I'm going to drive around and see if anyone needs help." Mom said, "You're so sweet, Pete!" Pete said, "I can't help it."
That's Pete all over. I think he was looking for an adventure.
I wonder if he got one. I'll have to ask him.

Moving on.
The last time we spoke with or knew anything of the whereabouts of my father's dogsledding party (lol) was Monday and we were expecting them home this evening. Mom called half a dozen times, but got Dad's voicemail every time. You got to understand there's no reception where they were in Canada and Dad said he'd call as soon as they crossed the border. Mom worried this whole evening. I said, "Aww, they've been roughing it all week. They probably just got stuck in the storm and they'll have to spend the night on the road."
It's a....what is it...a new feeling not knowing where someone is or when they'll show up. It's like the old days, like Lewis and Clark. Mom said that it actually wasn't very long ago that you couldn't keep in contact with people for every second of a trip. But, I like to think of Lewis and Clark, even though I don't know very much about the admirable fellows.

Oh, dear. I can't write anymore. I have to go to bed.

This is a pictureless post, in high hopes and expectations of bright snow and huskies and wilderness. Expect many beautiful pictures, my dear readers. Actually, don't hold your hopes up too high, because I don't know what to expect myself. There may be a few good ones.

Crazy, messy post, but I'm off to bed!
Good night!