It was just a couple weeks ago that I was writing an if-the-shoe-fits post about becoming a pick-up truck driver. I decided I was okay with it.
Now I’m more okay with it. We’re on Long Island, because Kevin’s family’s annual Christmas party was conveniently scheduled to coincide with the biggest blizzard Long Island has seen in some sixty years. There are some 200 miles between us and home, and every one of them is covered in two feet of snow.
As the last of the storm blows through, we’re watching the mayhem out our hotel window. Cars slip, skid, and slide into snowbanks, ditches, and other cars. They try and get out, but only dig themselves in deeper. Eventually, they get help from kindly passers-by. Passers-by in appropriate vehicles. Four-wheel drive vehicles. Like the kind we have, and had the foresight to use to get us here.