Monday, 31 March 2008

March goes out like a wombat


Winter is waddling out of Ottawa and taking its own sweet time. Woke up this morning with an iron-grey sky and black thoughts. Pep-talked myself, applied a little dab of the musk eau de cologne that my elder daughter brought back from Proven├že. (Never mind the fact that Cologne is, in fact, in Germany; I was trying to cling to items of love and beauty to save myself from myself.) By the time younger daughter and I tackled the long hill to school, it was snowing outright, coating the filthy fossilized remains of old drifts with a creamy wrap, the muddy shards of ice poking through.

On the way home, still trying to stay high-minded, I took photographs of: frozen explosions in the park below younger daughter's school and:
deadly red former evergreens in the merciless grip of a winter's worth of snowplough droppings:

I was just angling myself to take a snap of piles of garbage bags against a backdrop of more frozen waste, when I felt my boot slide out inexorably sideways, and as I tried to regain balance, my other boot slid out in equal inexorability in the exact opposite direction. In agonizing slow motion, I made it to the ground in an ungainly split. I straightened out my legs and lay in the snow atop the black ice and wondered dispassionately if I would be able to get up. Two Russian women whose daughters attend younger daughter's school glanced in my direction from the corner where they were chatting, then resumed their conversation. I managed to regain my feet, figured my left knee, although throbbing painfully on the inside edge, would take my weight and hobbled home, cursing the posh apartment dwellers who never touch the sidewalk outside their building.

I'm now following the R.I.C.E. prescription (rest-ice-compress-elevate) and praying I'll be able to manage the trek to younger daughter's school to pick her up. So far, I'm managing stairs and have even done a load of laundry, gingerly picking my way down two flights, so I imagine I'll be alright, but am glaring sourly at the "to-do" list I'd optimistically posted on my brand-new iGoogle home page this morning.

Expletive deleted. Time for another Doctor Who video. This one, by exceedingly rare YouTube poster "HuaidanSam" combines an unlikely song ("I Wanna Talk About Me" by Toby Keith) with clever cuts and witty associations, resulting in a hilarious and rather sexy fanvid which tells Rose to get her head out of her navel:

There. I needed a good giggle. Time to get the gel pack from the freezer again...

2 comments:

Rob said...

Now tell me your use of the word "trek" in there wasn't some deep Freudian echo of Whn All Is Said And Done......

Persephone said...

You, sir, are a devil! I think I lean more toward Jung than Freud, if only because I get a little fed up with mums getting the blame for everything.

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