So, I was thinking, as I drove the 25 minutes to work today, that I just might want to move back to my home town in the Midwest, get a job at the local hospital and retire there. I would be closer to my children and grand children. I would be able to spend holidays and birthdays and babysit them for occasional Parent's Night Out activities. It was a wonderful 5 minutes of contemplation, until I remembered what actually HAPPENS in the Midwest, especially during the winter.  (You must understand, before I go any further, that I live in southern California. REAL SOUTHERN. I can spit and hit Tijuana).
 I spent the majority of my early adult life above the 45th Parallel. This meant months of no sun. dreary, bleak months that dragged on from one ice storm to the other with occasional breaches of daylight. Grey was the NEW white. If you could see the car in front of you at 25 miles an hour it was a good day for a drive. My little 25 minute drive to work here would be an all day ordeal back there. I remembered the tale of Melissa who was scheduled to work at 8 AM. As she told it, the snow plow had made its singular path down her road early in the morning before what was considered a sunrise there. Her thoughts were that by daylight she could examine the conditions and make a sound estimation of the roadway. What she did not consider was the  angle of her driveway. I've been to Melissa's house and it is no easy feat to navigate its steep path to the roadway above. So, eager to make it to work on time and with no more brains than the cold cup of coffee in the Marathon gas travel mug sitting on the counter, forgotten, she slid into her mukluk boots, donned her winter parka with its fur lined hood,which she secured snugly around her neck with a home made scarf knitted by grandma some years ago and trudged to the cold dark garage.

The garage door was frozen fast to the cement floor, its rubber glistening in the stark blue light of the one overhead neon lamp. Several tugs at the handle proved the door would not budge. Oh help us, an idea was forming in her blond, empty little head. Into the car she dove, settled herself securely into the seat belt and inserted the key into the ignition. I haven't a clue why this seemed a reasonable idea for her, but she turned the key, slid the car into reverse gunned the gas. As she told it, she was just going to nudge the door a bit. You know, just a little jiggle to get it loose from the ice. In reality what ensued had to be the most hilarious sight so far! Melissa rocketed out of the garage, ripping the door completely off its track and onto the snow of the driveway. This was not the end. With Grandma's scarf tied tight around her neck the only thing she saw when looking backwards was the passenger side door and the landscape careening past the window. The car shot out of the garage, over the garage door, down the now snow covered drive way and up over the first snowbank made by the previous plow. AH! job well done! except for the slight misjudgment made when applying the brakes.  It is a very helpless feeling, when applying the braking system, you realize that the car simply won't stop. It careened gracefully up over the raised roadway and down the other side. Melissa found herself gazing up at an awkward angle into the morning sky with no roadway in sight, the car buried up to its back doors in the snow.
Now why do I bring up this uncomfortable memory? For the very reason why I live in Southern California.  Who IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would live in weather conditions that are not conducive to shorts, flip flops and a beach towel?  Like I said right off, it was a wonderful 5 minutes of contemplation, followed by 20 minutes of WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!