Mixed Precipitating

And-I-think-thats-it I woke up with a plan for the day that suddenly fractured because I got scared over the chance of snow and mixed precipitation; the fear of driving from Bethel to Colchester to Lebanon, NH in the span of 24 hours with snow dogging me all the way. And, I hear they’re serving dinner and I’m not sure how long we’ll be there or what time we’ll be able to leave, what time is dinner served anyway? This makes planning hard, when I need to make the three-hour window that Weather.com says I have between the rain and the snow. Snow flurries are nothing until you have to drive the windswept alley between Northfield and Randolph, where weather always stretches its coiled muscles, showing off what it can do, making night slicker, darker, foggier than it need be. And, I don’t trust my new car. It seems to slip and slide and have a mind of its own. It wants to twirl and pirouette at the slightest gust of wind—a fanciful ballerina, when I wanted a marine in full battle gear. Then the phone rings and someone’s heart is breaking and God knows I don’t have an answer for what God is doing. And, while we’re pondering big questions, who knew we could lose an airplane in a day and age when Big Brother is supposed to be watching everything. Then, my sweet sister-in-law tries to make me feel better, bless her. She says it’s hard to drive the length of the state without encountering snow somewhere and I think that’s it isn’t it—on life’s highway you’re bound for a little heartache. It’s all a mixed bag.