as soon as i showered, i asked my new orleanian guests (clearly, resident experts on winter) if they thought we ought to go out anyway. sure, they said, enthusiastically. after all, t had agreed to teach me how to make apple pie, and we needed butter. and bread. and other essential pantry items i had neglected to stock prior to their arrival. so not 30 minutes after being warned to stay off the streets, we put on our wooly hats and boots and off we went.
we made it out of the driveway and slid gently out of control down to the stop sign, which was the first sign that the gods had other plans. being either stupid or eternally optimistic, i turned up the hill, only to slide down awkwardly, weaving all over the road. attempt number two produced similar results. i tried to turn the car around to no avail, and ended up backing up part way up the hill towards our driveway until the ice won and i shuddered to a stop halfway up. as we sat there wondering what to do, we were passed on the right (i.e. half way up the sidewalk) by an apparent moron in a SUV with alberta plates. figures.
when it became obvious we weren't going either up or down, i got out, walked the 15 feet back to the house, rang the landlord's door and waited with a sheepish grin. hi, i said, i'm an idiot. you were right. help.
shovels and a bucket of salt were produced and while p and the landlord shoveled a track for the volvo, t and i sprinkled it daintily with salt, falling spectacularly every once in a while and chortling maniacally upon the icy road. once the track was laid down, i managed to turn the car around and drive it back to its little home. we then took the bus, got groceries and made two apple pies, one of which was proudly taken upstairs as a heartfelt thank you for not having once said "i told you so."