Rest Easy, Curtis Has Your Bags

In the North they get snow storms. In the South, we get ice storms. And I don't care where you are from: ain't nobody that can drive on ice.

With that said, Curtis left this morning for work. He works for a major airline at the airport. I guess he is one of those people they are talking about on the TV that absolutely has to drive. You know, he must be there to load all those bags for all those people who aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

I stood on the porch, watching him back out of the driveway, expecting him to just keep on going, sliding on into the park, hoping he wouldn't take the power-line and our heat with him. He got out of the driveway easily enough, but then when he tried to go forward there was much whirring noise, but not much movement. I was skeptical as to whether he was even going to make it to the side of the road, that all this noble effort  would result in nothing more than an annoying roadblock.

But off he went. Fifteen minutes later, I was still waving at his tail-lights.