A Winter's Tale

Where did our beautiful Summer and Autumn go?  I wasn't ready for gray skies, wet streets, and rain.  Not that we don't get rain year round, but it's back in earnest until Spring.  Last year, Earl outfitted Skeeter for whatever the season might throw our way.  Aside from the rain canopy*, she now sported one rear red light, one rear white light, and one really bright front light.  My helmet is turquoise, the jacket is very red and my gloves are still bright pink (Mom would be so proud**).  I'm hard to miss unless someone felt the need to put me out of my fashion misery.  At least we weren't having the winter that the Midwest and East coast were enduring.  Fortunately, the Northwest has a temperate climate and we rarely see snow.

Ready or not, the inclement weather arrived in November.  In spite of the weather, I decided to take a scoot to the library to deliver our election ballots.  It all came back to me as I scooted along —remembering what Skeeter's response was to steep declines on wet streets during the winter months.  For safety, a motorized scooter senses wet terrain, degree of slope, slows down and automatically engages the brakes.  I was grateful, but impatient with the decreased pace.  At 5 MPH max, a motorized scooter is no speed machine, but come on.  It took me longer to get down to the library and even bundled up, I was so freakin' cold by the time I got there.

The library has multiple handicapped door openers and they all work well, as long as you are fast.  Spoiler alert–I'm not, even when I want to briefly escape the outdoor elements.  The main door opener lets you into the inner vestibule, but the door closes if you don't move along.  Usually, I do fine at my slowest speed, but I have been caught on occasion.  Why not increase the scooter speed?  Do you really have to ask?  I consider it optimal not to take anything or anyone out–a major objective. 
Challenges are well and good, but if someone offers to drop my ballots in the box, I'm happy to accept, scoot home, and get warm.

The tree farm tent shelter;  wrap it up
The tree lot
The December cold weather adventure was to pick out a Christmas tree.  Skeeter was the perfect companion in that she is inanimate, there for transportation only, and doesn't offer any opinion on the size, type, or shape of the tree.  I know there are families that view the picking out of the Christmas tree as a tradition.  It should be—in someone else's family.  Earl, Heidi, and Jason became accustomed and resigned to the appearance of the holiday dictator when it came to the tree.  My approach?  No help, no company, no input.  These days, I just choose the tree, pay for it, tag it for Earl to pickup later, and scoot home to get warm.  So much for family tradition.  A win, win–for me, anyway.

View from garage
In January, we had a bout of unseasonably cold weather, even for late winter.  Fortunately, it was dry, quite clear, and lovely —barring water main breaks throughout the city. We'll find out if we had any pipe breaks with the Spring thaw.  Snow came unexpectedly just before Valentine's Day.  Since sledding, cross-country skiing, or snow-shoeing wasn't in the plan, I enjoyed the winter scene by sitting on Skeeter and opening the garage door.  The view was pristine and staying under shelter of the garage protected me from the wind.   On day one of the brief storm, the snow wasn't deep, but I didn't think Skeeter's wheels were up to venturing out.  More than two inches of any surface (snow, sand, gravel, dirt) was asking for it.  I could probably have bundled up and scooted down the driveway, but gotten stuck scooting up —that would have been ugly.

February?  Really?
The lesson:  I'm just disabled, not demented or stupid.  I'm 65, not six.  Stay in or dress warm.  You just never know about cold weather. 

* Previous post–The Rain Canopy
** Previous post–There Are No Perfect Glasses

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