Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Charge of the White Brigade

I had to go.

There was a winter tempest here yesterday not unlike many other areas north of the Mason-Dixon that have been callously spanked by Old Man Winter. It wasn’t the only snowstorm recently and it was a nasty one with freezing rain followed by heavy blowing snow followed by “holy crap” under-the-breath mutterings as my paramour and I stared out the window at a David Copperfield landscape. (It kept disappearing and reappearing behind a white shroud.)

I ventured out in the Old Man’s blustery antipathy as a result of either poor planning or faux truculent bravado or simply trying to make sure I got the stuff I “needed” before a sale at the hardware ended at six o’clock. I put off purchasing the sale items until the last minute. I probably shouldn’t have been out there... sale or no sale.

I have a propensity for being a master procrastinator.

Our basement flooded on Boxing Day; floors ripped up, bathroom gutted, assorted articles of varying importance now destined for a refuse dump and a need to replace a boat load of goodies. After the clean-up, it’s been a bit of a struggle getting the insurance company to get around to putting our world back together. Part of the reason is my own fault because we want to make a few changes while the basement is a blank canvas of sorts. At least, that’s the excuse I’m mentally married to as justification for my procrastination.

We needed three new doors and a vanity... the doors were on sale... until yesterday... at six o’clock... in a blizzard... and I was outdoors trudging through the snow in a 4 x 4 open sleigh.

There’s just no accounting for testosterone induced stupidity.

While I was “out there” trying to determine why I wasn’t “in here” (and speculating why the damned road kept disappearing), I also began to wonder what it was that drives us to do things we really shouldn’t do. I wasn’t the only one out there. There were cars stuck in driveways, snow blowers clearing paths, city plows burying cars along the side of the road, vehicles spinning sideways on icy hills and yours truly negotiating the snow encumbered city streets. At least I think I was on the streets.

Smart money would have us all living within three hundred miles of the equator in breeze wafted grass huts sipping margaritas and laying in the sand holding our Sweetie’s hand. Of course, our ancestors had some need to venture forth into the vast unknown. That curiosity and a necessity to find more food sources as the population grew landed us here where it’s inhospitable four to six months a year. Oh yeah... And the British wanted beaver pelts for hats.

I wonder whom I should thank.

We have an intrinsic need to better our lives which is how I ended up driving around blustery streets to get doors on sale cause they look pretty and they’re cheap. Well, that and I love my Honey and she wanted those doors.

It seems we will go to great lengths to acquire what we think we need. Often though, what we really need is already waiting at home for us making us dinner and anticipating our return from a gallant foray into regions best left to sled dogs and polar bears.

Perhaps what I really need is to retune my priorities.

I got the doors and vanity, returned home with a smile and hugged my Sweetie when I arrived. I know what it is I really need and she was happy to see me home.