The steering rack on Jon’s car is threatening to go out again. For the second time in a year. And I’m just so grateful it doesn’t have anything to do with me. (Unlike the emergency brake.) And I’ve been thinking about this ridiculous story. Happy winter weekend everyone!

I’m wondering if you might help me conduct a Little Experiment. I’m going to tell you an interesting true story that happened to me today that I haven’t yet “mentioned” to my husband Jon.

Little Experiment by allie taylor

I’m wanting to find out if he reads my blog. I know he’s subscribed, but I’m just curious if he actually reads it. So mum’s the word, OK? You in?

OK, here goes. So today I head out to my knitting group Ravelry. We haven’t met in a while because I’ve been kind of busy otherwise with the blog, and I usually host it. But one of the other girls kindly offered to host and it’ll be so great to finally see everyone again. We get a group together and carpool over.

It’s a really frigid day, so cold that the local news station says that NH, at the tippy top of Mt. Washington, is the second coldest place in the world right now. IN THE WORLD folks. The NH temperature today is tied with that of Nunavut. I’ve never heard of Nunavut, don’t know where it is. And truthfully I don’t care. (No offense Nunavut-ites.)

But the only colder temperature in the entire world right now besides us and Nunavut is South Pole, Antarctica. WE TUNDRA. Seems like every day is below freezing. And with the windchill, it feels like -30 right now. So yeah, we’re gluttons for punishment, because we go out, carpool to our knitting group Ravelry. I drive, borrow Jon’s car.

We wind through backroads to get to her house, such a beautiful drive. She has a lovely home with a long, steep driveway that’s been plowed, but there’s still quite an undercoating of snow, as we had another blizzard storm just yesterday. So we drive down the long, long driveway, make it in just fine, no problems. I know I’ll have to turn the car around when we leave, because I know I can’t back up the steep with the snow.

We go inside, have a delightful knitting time, chat in her greenhouse family room. Basically a glass atrium with glass walls, glass roof. Thankfully heated and insulated.

Spectacular scenery every which way, an occasional clump of snow, looking up thru the glass ceiling.

But it’s so cozy and inviting inside….great company, knitting, conversation, coffee, even a fabulous sour cream pecan coffee cake. Dense and delicious. I really must share that wonderful recipe with you very soon, because guess what? She gave it to me!!! Yay us! She’s quite the cook, royally spoiled us.

So while we’re chatting, knitting, her husband comes home, parks next to me in the driveway. When it’s time for us to go later, he kindly backs up in the driveway just a short distance on the side, gives me space to turn around. So I pull forward with great difficulty in big snow tracks into their garage, narrowly miss their doorframe. Close call, phew. (Worse, I have an audience.)

Slowly, I back out of the garage, the car seems sluggish. I’m getting ready to tackle that steep, snowy hill. So they coach me to get a good running start before I gun it up the hill. I do what I’m told, promptly get stuck. I’m spinning my wheels dangerously near his car, sliding forward far too close. He’s smiling, but it’s that nervous smile. Know what I’m sayin’?

Remember, my car is chock full of knitting friends. So I let up on the gas, let the car roll back, try again, push the pedal to the medal. Stuck again. I see our hostess outside, wildly motioning to me. I roll down the window.

“Allie, Allie –  your back wheels, they’re not even turning!” she yells.

And then it suddenly occurs to me. Like an idiot, I’ve left the emergency brake engaged. Yes, I’m trying to gun up this snowy, steep, icy hill with a carload of passengers within millimeters of another car with my emergency brake on. Yeah, I think you’re starting to catch my drift why I might not have told Jon this story yet.

So we all weakly laugh, ha ha ha, and I release the brake and we attempt it a third time. Thankfully we have no problem getting up that snowy hill. I drop off the passengers one by one, the last in front of my own house where she parked. I wasn’t even going to go inside because I’m heading north to pick up kids from school. But the snow is bright and I’m really needing my sunglasses for the afternoon sun. So I run inside quick, grab my shades.

I come back out, roll back down the short steep driveway, put the car in drive. The car’s not responding so well.

There’s a lot of snow, ice and frozen slush out in front of our house right now, but I just can’t believe how the car won’t even go. So I lay on the gas pedal harder, sliding sideways. Basically, I’m stuck in the middle of the road, in front of my own house. And now I’m paranoid someone’s gonna come around that corner, hit me hard in the middle of the road. I’m scrambling for the hazard button on the dashboard of his car, pushing the pedal hard, when suddenly I realize the problem. You guessed it. The emergency brake. Yup, twice, in the space of half an hour. Guess I should be hoping (and praying) right about now that he doesn’t read this blog….

Related post: Misery Loves Company

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Craziest thing happened. You know that Neon Sign in the Sky, the one we beg for? I think I finally saw it today.

Neon Sign in the Sky by allie taylor

So I’m headed down the highway to a doctor appointment. I’ve already missed this appointment twice: once for a snowstorm, once because the flu was raging at our house. So I’m thinking, third time’s the charm.

I’m nearly halfway there, hear a loud noise coming from a tire. It’s a wide shoulder, so I pull over, check it out.

Yup, right tire’s flat as a pancake.

So I get back in, make a few phone calls, the doctor’s office first. They’re not exactly giddy to hear of my third last minute cancellation. Roadside assistance is on the way, but it takes almost an hour and a half to arrive. It’s a real bummer. First because I’m missing the appointment for the third time. Second, because I’ve got nothing to write with or work on. I hate wasting time. I rummage around, all I can scrounge up is a broken pencil and a used tissue. I meant to grab my knitting bag racing out the door but forgot it. That and my water bottle. So I’m sitting on the side of the road in subzero weather while the clock ticks.

Roadside assistance finally arrives. But first he calls my cell, asks where I am. I tell him. He says he doesn’t really want to drive all the way to the next exit and loop back, he’d rather back up the nearest exit ramp, and back down the highway shoulder to me. I tell him I can just see the exit in the distance, but it’s a long way off. It’s too far, probably not safe.

He says ok, hangs up. Pays no attention to me. Because next thing I know, a car’s backing UP the long winding shoulder of the exit ramp, then backwards towards me about a thousand feet on the highway shoulder. Bizarre. Not even a tow truck, just a regular car. I’m no policeman, but surely driving backwards up the exit ramp and a thousand feet backwards down the highway is illegal. Or should be. Can’t make a citizen’s arrest now though. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” (Or changes your tire.) He comes to the window, explains he decided to back up the exit anyway. (Really?) Hope he fixes tires better than he drives.

He pulls out the spare, takes off the flat. Tells me I’m missing a lug nut on the wheel, do I know that?

“No, is it dangerous?” I ask.

“Nah, you’ll be fine,” he says. (I consider his driving.)

He finishes the job, stows the flat in the trunk. I sign the papers, he’s on his way, thankfully driving straight ahead. Now that I’ve missed my appointment, need to get off on that exit ramp, the one I’ve been staring at for the last hour and a half, so I can flip around toward home.

I pull off the exit, wait behind a van at the red light.

You’re not going to believe this. Guess what the license plate in front of me says?

Lug Nut.

You can’t make this stuff up. Who has a license plate that says “lug nut”? I stare, mouth ajar. Then kick into action, whip out the phone, snap a picture. But it’s through my salty windshield, comes out too dark.

I’m not superstitious, but seriously, what are the odds? You better believe I saw that Neon Sign in the Sky and I’ll be having that fifth lug nut replaced. Today.

Ever seen a neon sign in the sky? Tell us about it today.

You may also enjoy: Shut Up and Listen

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Folks, it’s bone chillin’ cold here in New England these days. This afternoon, the thermometer read a whopping 23 degrees. Now it’s 14 and dropping. That might not seem wicked cold to you, but it’s a dry cold, if you know what I mean. Ha. (“It’s a dry heat” always gets me.)

Another World by allie taylor

Seems like just yesterday we moved back to New England. In reality, it was 2004. Eleven years and a few days have quickly passed since moving day. Some of you reading this were present the very morning the moving truck pulled away from the curb at the Jenkins’ Oak Creek home in South Carolina on January 1st. We’ll never forget your many generous helping hands and gracious send-off. It took a numbers guy to get the last three book cases crammed in the back of truck. (Thanks Blix.) Our eyes brimmed, spilled, and yours did too… but we didn’t say goodbye. No, we said “until we meet again”, then pressed the gas pedal headed north towards our next life chapter.

We arrived here mid-snowstorm on January 2nd. Maneuvering that big yellow Penske moving truck, we hit snowy Boston rush hour traffic and continued wending our way north. It was quite the adventure. (Thank God we had good friends to help.)

Back then we had just two little boys, three and five, both South Carolina born.

The January we moved back to the Northeast just happened to be the coldest on record for decades. Figures. My blood had thinned in the south, and my feet were always freezing.

But our little guys? They were practically in shock with the -10 and -15 degree days.

Within a week of arriving, Jon filled a pulpit in St. Albans, Vermont. St. Albans rests on the Canadian border. And just prior to heading north to St. Albans, the heater in our old Volvo wagon died. So we had to borrow a car for the northern trek. Stopping for a fill-up and dry gas for the tank in northern VT, another customer said the thermometer read -40 degrees at his house that morning. We’re talking freezing. Frigid. Antarctica and Siberia.

In the wee hours that morning, we’d bundled up for the trip. My kids resembled Ralphie in The Christmas Story movie, practically immobilized. Scarves, hats, puffy coats, boots and mittens. The layers made movement difficult, if nearly impossible, especially for our inexperienced little southern yahoos. And we ole’ yankees needed a refresher course too. With a three and a half hour journey north, we were eager to get on the road. Jon managed to get Jacob (3) buckled in with the extra layers, but in the rearview mirror I could see Jonathan (5) struggling.

“Honey, buckle your seatbelt,” I called back. “We don’t want to be late.”

“I can’t,” he moaned, wrestling the seatbelt, mittened and mummified under umpteen layers.

“Why do I have to wear one anyway?” he whined.

“Because,” I answered a shortly. “You were born in this world.”

“I was not born in this world,” an angry little voice replied. “I was born in South Carolina.”

Truth. From the lips of children. New England: Another World.

You may also enjoy this winter post:  Misery Loves Company

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(Just call me Tundra Woman.)

It was the coldest, snowiest winter in recent memory. The bathroom tiles were icy on my bare feet that morning. Oh how I wished we’d sprung for fixing that wall heater. Seconds later, the naive assumption the toilet lid was up didn’t improve my mood.

Misery Loves Company by Allie Taylor

My feet froze all morning. (Why oh why didn’t I order those battery socks I saw in The Vermont Country Store catalog?)

Scanning the headlines at lunch, I absently reached for a sip.

Not my water bottle, the Windex. Sigh. (And ugh.)

I slipped on the only boots I could scrounge up by the side door (size 12 clodhoppers) and clumped on out to check for mail. None yet.

And grrr….someone had forgotten to close the mailbox. Again.

Later, we gathered the piano books and ventured out for his afternoon lesson. The wind howled. We shivered. I cleared off the side and back windows with the snow brush. It took an eternity and a day for the car heater to kick in. The windshield wipers were stuck in an icy frozen arc. The defroster eventually did the trick. Finally, we were on our way.

We made it to the lesson without incident. Exhale. The lesson now over, we bundled back up for the freezing ride home. It was only five o’clock, but it might as well’ve been midnight. It was pitch black. I clicked the dome light so he could see to buckle up. Only it wasn’t the dome light. The crusty remains of last night’s snowstorm dumped onto my head, shoulders and passenger seat as the sunroof slowly slid open. My collar was full. My lap was full. The console was full. I shuddered violently. Silence.

Then an angry little voice filtered up from the inky Black Hole behind me. “It’s not MY fault!”

On God’s green earth, did ANYONE say that it was?

Misery Loves Company. Move to New England. Today.

You might never leave.

Or you might.

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