You may have heard that this side of the US is getting slammed by a major winter storm.
I drove to south Georgia on Wednesday for a work-related meeting, a drive which took over an hour longer than usual because I got caught behind a logging truck on a two-lane, winding country road with almost no spots where you can pass--and there was oncoming traffic in the few spots available. I nearly had an aneurysm. I don't have much patience with driving slowly. You may have picked up on that.
I went to bed early, got up yesterday morning, and checked the weather forecast. When I attend this meeting, I generally work on my laptop from my hotel room the afternoon after the meeting, then drive home the next day. When I looked at the forecast, it looked as if the storm wouldn't hit my little corner of the Carolinas until mid-afternoon today. So . . .I figured if I got up very early, I could beat the storm home and follow my regular routine.
Went to the meeting, had another shorter meeting afterwards, grabbed fast food for lunch, went back to my hotel.
Thought perhaps I should check the weather again, just in case.
Forecast had changed since 7 a.m. The first stage of the storm was supposed to start at about 1 a.m. today.
I threw everything into my suitcase and briefcase, threw them in the trunk, threw myself into the car, and headed north.
In my Misspent Youth, I was the Queen of Late Night Drives. Tell me about a concert that required a long road trip, I was the first in the car. Suggest that perhaps it would be fun to go to New Orleans for a week-end, even though we would have to drive all night, and I had the map out (remember, no GPS in my Misspent Youth). Need someone to drive the car or keep the driver awake, I was your girl.
Apparently, I'm out of the habit. Or I am aged.
I made it home before the storm arrived. I woke up to a couple of inches of snow and ice, I worked from home until a transformer blew and the power went off for a couple of hours, and now I am ready to make a big pot of beef stew for the week-end.
As soon as I stop vibrating from the drive.
And I never took my needlepoint project out of its bag.
Sigh . . .