The origin of our predicament is a southern-style-two-inches-of-snow-storm. One day inside is manageable, two days is borderline stir-crazy. (Yes, there is a reason I live in an area that is primarily warm and dry.)
When the flakes started falling Friday evening I knew I had to stop by the grocery store for some supplies to hold us over until a proper grocery-shopping spree could be conducted. I could not help being swept up in the contained excitement just below the surface of focused shoppers. I was after the staples: bread and milk. I disliked falling into this stereotype, but bread for sandwiches and milk for hot chocolate weren't negotiable. I was amazed that anyone in this general vicinity of the city could possibly not find the groceries they were after - from work to home I have the option of stopping at eight grocery stores – eight – and I live fifteen minutes from my job!
Yesterday we sat inside and rested uncontrollably. I woke up late and took a nap. I banged on the piano a bit, read a bit, wrote a bit, ate a bit and repeated. Nevertheless, the novelty had worn off today. So, we took off in search of adventure.
We braved the frozen paths in search of nourishment. I stepped gingerly on the frozen tundra, knowing full-well that one wrong move could plunge my sneaker-clad foot into a dangerous…puddle of ice-cold water. We made it across the ice-lands, down small hills and up again. We found enough for soup and grilled cheese and discovered much of the ice melted on our return trip.
As far as a source of inspiration, it’s not much: we were inside, went outside and now we’re back inside. But, I seriously needed to start writing again and I’ve been reading that the best way to do that is just to write. As someone noted, you can edit crap, you can’t edit a blank page. So, crap or not, I’ve now done something other than tickling the ivories and sitting up to change the TV channel.