I went to Wegmans yesterday. Not only was it mobbed with moms doing their midday frantic shopping trip without the rugrats in tow, but it was senior citizen day. A bunch of women on the fast track to git’er done and waltz over to Starbucks across the street for a white chocolate mocha (I want whipped cream, some don’t, I won’t judge). And another bunch of women content to live life in a slower lane that involves parking their carts in the middle of the aisle, then staring at the shelves, creating a bottleneck. And migraines.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a senior also, but I come off a long stint in the corporate world. I have yet to relinquish my Type-A-ness, probably never will. I live and die by the adage: a jury of my peers would not convict me, assuming they’re all thirty-somethings with kids who need to do it now.
But I digress. Because it’s about #weather and #panic shopping and a predicted brush with an Alberta Clipper which was why 80% of us were there vying for the fresh-out-of-the-brick-oven rosemary/garlic Italian bread and OJ and some new ideas for dinner because Wegmans’ menu mag had just arrived in our mailboxes and…
Well, if you’ve ever seen it, you would understand.
Be that as it may, it was a mini-panic-shopping day, with a dusting of snow promised from Mr. Weatherman on Channel 69, and then a rude awakening as us fast-laners hit the line of cashiers all at the same time.
We were checking our phones, like you do. One gal two lanes over gasped and groaned and moaned something about early dismissal. Necks snapped, fingers tapped, more moans and a bit of colorful language. The gal in front of me asked, “Parkland?” Another answered, “Yeah, if they go, then all of them go.”
The checkers, to a man or woman or teen, assumed ‘oh shit’ expressions as the ting of scanners registered produce at the speed of panic. I was third in my line and in no particular hurry so I enjoyed watching the bottleneck at the exit hall and breathed a sigh of relief.
Starbucks had a loooong line at the drive-through window so I decided to hie on home before the school buses hit the road. I almost made it, but not quite. To avoid that mess, I ducked onto back roads and leisurely drove past the KOA campground, looking lovely in its coating of ice from the last storm, and then I hit the gravel road leading to the bridge crossing the feeder to Jordan Creek.
I took advantage of the solace and the cruelly stunning nakedness of woods in winter, stopping wherever I liked to snap a few candids, with no fear of an irate driver coming up behind me. Yes, there were icy patches but nothing too dire…
…until I got onto the gravel lane running behind our property. The road was cut from a steep hill, with a sharp rise to the right and a drop-off to a creek left. The runoff from my side collected on the road and froze. It wasn’t black ice, it was thick ice with embedded gravel—completely covering the lane—about a 100 yards worth leading to a rather sharp uphill rise and the turn onto the highway.
As they say, oops. I could have engaged 4WD but that would mean taking my hands off the wheel. It was strikingly lovely in the hollow but no way in hell was I grabbing the camera, rolling down the window, scrolling the icons and clicking the button.
The Chevy gods were with me, I arrived home without a story to post on Face Book and settled in to check the weather. The radar suggested it was snowing (it wasn’t), it also proclaimed a mere dusting (more south). Waiting. Nada. Then when it started, it forgot to stop.
It was very entertaining watching the traffic from the 2nd floor window doing the commuter crawl down our steep hill. It was less entertaining when the plows engaged in the middle of the night, trying to clear away that “dusting” that was halting the big rigs from making it up said hill.
And now we’re due for an “event” on Saturday. Am I going back to Wegmans to panic shop?
Oh hell, yeah. It’s a tradition in the valley.
Here are some of those photos from my foray into the wilds of the hollow.
#nokickbacks from #Wegmans or #Starbucks were earned from this post.