This morning my fiancee and I spent a very cold, sloppy, snow-filled hour or so excavating our cars from the two feet of snow that got dumped on us last night. Mother Nature, having bestowed a week of 65-degree weather on New England, now appears to have done it just for the chance to yell PSYCH! and hit us with several metric kilotons of the wet white stuff.
Luckily, we don't have to shovel...the plow guy, instead, comes around and watches bemusedly while we stagger around trying to find a car under the bell-shaped mounds of ice-encrusted accumulation before clearing off our parking area. During which time there is no place to park, and so we are instructed to "take a ride".
As long as I was "taking a ride", I figured I might as well just get started on my errands, one of which was to see my Official Tax Preparer in order to remain a law-abiding citizen. All of which is basically my excuse for not having tuned into the Sox game until the moment when Jonathan Papelbon was gesturing at Tito on the mound, and without context I immediately panicked at Jonathan's pained expression, thinking he was hurt again. Nope. Apparently just a little sucky today, what with a big home run in the first and another run given up before the third was over. About the only thing that's happened since then was an actual out recorded by Joel Piniero, and a warning-track flyout for Big Papi, who I must say looks absolutely stunning in green.
And I still have miles to go before I sleep...in fact, just watching a couple innings and pounding out this mostly-useless post has made me late for another social obligation.
But you know...I think I might watch for a few more minutes anyway, just to see that faraway field awash in green, before heading back out into the slushy world of white.
Have a Happy and safe St. Patrick's Day, Boston. Watch out for the plows.