16 January 2003 - 2:09 p.m.
Big, fat, fluffy snowflakes! in big, fat, sticky flurries! My father-in-law claims we're looking at the largest snowfall to hit Nashville since 1986. Somewhere in the neighborhood of three to five inches of accumulation so far - at least on the hoods of the trucks inching by.
[pause for the Mainers and Michiganders and Minnesotans known to read this journal to recover from their laughing fits]
It was interesting having lunch at the Tin Angel this afternoon: most of us inside couldn't resist gazing outside at the kids and dogs frolicking on a hill - and assorted vehicles floundering up and down and in and out of the driveways. In fact, on our walk over to the restaurant, the Beautiful Young Man and three other guys had stopped to push a mired Mercedes back into the road ("you'd think that, if he can afford a $150,000 car, he'd have other cars that he could have driven on a day like this"). One of his co-workers returned from his cigarette break with the report that the five-lane artery outside of the office currently resembled a parking lot. Me, I'm in his office because, after leaving my client's house, I slid backwards down an incline and subsequently resorted to multiple u-turns and side streets to avoid the other inept drivers (yes, I have to count myself in that group. It wasn't even a hill. . .) - and even if I had felt up to driving home, the freeway I would have taken was already backed up halfway up the exit ramp when I passed it on my way to the BYM's lair.
So. There's already a stout snowman in front of the building, the trees are gorgeous in their new white finery, and I have plenty of correspondence and other projects I can tackle here. (Called the Yellow Pages to see about getting listed: got transferred from the automatic menu to a customer service rep, who transferred me to another department, who then gave me a local number to call. Called the local number and was transferred from the receptionist to an apparently junior rep who took down my information and said I should expect a sales call from an associate "up to two weeks" from now. Good grief!)
What the surf brought in:
Two years ago, a soundtrack.
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