This morning began as usual: the howl of a child at 6:27am. A lifting of said child from his portable crib, a sleepy walk to the bakery for a coffee, subsequent encounters with the next child to emerge. Yogurt with blueberries. Books about airplanes. And then another child. Cereal and milk. A lunch packed. Diapers changed. Clothes located and wrangled onto small, wriggly bodies. Said bodies further wrangled into car seats. And then the drive to school. I get to school to find the parking lot empty. I peer in the window. All is dark and quiet.
I call Robbi on the cell phone: What gives, I say?
Wait a second, she says. She consults the internet. Fog delay, she says.
Fog delay? I say. The italics are meant to suggest incredulity.
Where I come from, we scoff at tornadoes. Fog is not considered a noteworthy threat. Alas, I had no recourse but to fill 90 minutes with my three young charges.
Kato suggested we go to the library. It seemed as good an idea as any. We got the the library. I peeled the children from their various five-point harnesses. We walked eagerly to the door. Only to find this sign:
Words raced through my mind. Unpeakable, unprintable words. I pictured all the librarians in the gym, doing bench presses and power lifts. Kato started to cry. Reluctantly, we wrangled ourselves back into our various safety restraints and headed out.
We needed something to do. Anything at all. And so we headed to NAPA. We had a part to return. But I had a sinking feeling in my soul that everything in Chestertown was closed, that there was conspiracy afoot, that I was the butt of every joke. We pulled into the NAPA parking lot to find this affirming sign hanging in the window:
And, as if to let me know that everything was going to be ok, this sign hanging on the door.
My luck had turned, it seemed. With hope renewed, we headed to the grocery store. They too, were open.
And so we went inside.
We shopped, and we shopped slow, letting the minutes slip by as we examined the contents of each aisle. Among other items, we bought the makings for lasagna, one of my signature dishes. (Note that I have only three signature dishes: lasagna, enchiladas, and grilled portobellos). Now that the world is cooling off, it feels like lasagna season again.
As usual, no fewer than eleven fellow shoppers nodded with a mixture of pity and admiration telling me that I ” sure have [my] hands full.”
We finished just in time to drive Alden to school and drop her off at 10:00. And there wasn’t a hint of fog to be seen.
I, too, was foiled by the closed library yesterday, altho sans triple-threat bambinos. I figure the “staff development” was just code for “desperately trying to cobble together another Lindsay a la Dr. Frankenstein out of a hodge-podge assortment of freshly dug up limbs & brains from ‘Abby Someone.'”
For what it’s worth, Matthew, part of the hyper-sensitivity to fog comes from a terrible accident that happened down near Easton a number of years ago when a school bus was hit by an oncoming car in thick fog one morning and there were deaths, though I don’t recall how many. (I think it was on Route 50–maybe someone who remembers can help me out here.)
“Where I come from, we scoff at tornadoes. Fog is not considered a noteworthy threat.”
Hells, yeah!
Clayton: Thank you for reminding me that I am, at the core, a thoughtless and horrible person.
Come on, I hope you know that wasn’t the point. You’re not the first I’ve heard express frustration with fog delays, and for perfectly understandable reasons. I’m just saying that fog is nothing to trifle with. Ask Donald about the huge pileup in Canada that his friend barely avoided but that resulted in quite a few deaths, just because people kept driving and couldn’t see the accidents piled up right in front of them. Montel Williams–now THERE’S a thoughtless and horrible person.
Clayton. I feel better. And now count myself dutifully among those who fear fog.
Clayton! Why did you cave so easily?! Go back to telling Matthew he is a thoughtless and horrible person! It’s the only moment of humility he’s shown ALL DAY! Otherwise it’s all, “I’m thoughtful! And I’m wonderful!” ALL DAY LONG. Sheesh!!
Actually, Robbi, I gave it serious thought, especially after I saw the “even Robbi can do it” quip regarding your math skills on the “I-am-not-a-spambot” question below. I thought to myself, “yeah, he really is thoughtless and horrible.” But I was worried you would back him up by saying you are, in fact, terrible at math, and I’d be left looking like an insensitive cad. Besides, caving comes easily to me.
As for the fog delay, I say, welcome to Kent County. (Not that I live there anymore, but still.) I remember taking the PSAT (nerd alert) somewhere in like, not the Eastern Shore, when I was in high school. The snotty Baltimore kids were asking a few of us where we were from. We told them, Kent County. They laughed at us for being from the place with the fog delays.
Old wounds run deep, evidently.
I am also making lasagna this weekend, to celebrate the fact that it’s under 90 degrees in Austin.
Heather: Isn’t it time to dig deep and admit that occasional fog is less of a blight than unyielding heat? Lots of houses on the market here right now…