Instead of writing this morning I am making Loy a collage birthday card for her upcoming birthday. My plan is to glue about a million 13s all over the pictures of ladybugs and butterflies and cupcakes. In preparation for this I went around the house gathering up all the magazines and annoying clothing catalogs from the overflowing recycling bins, figuring I’d cut the #13 page numbers from all of them. And that’s when I made a startling, if not totally trivial discovery: most magazines do NOT have the number 13 printed on their pages: instead there is usually an ad on that page. Is there some unspoken fear amongst the publishing world that 13 is truly bad luck and to print it would surely mean diminished sales? Crazy. But, I’m glad. It’s way more fun this way….
Last night, more than twenty water lines in downtown Burlington froze and cracked. One of the main lines is just outside our house on the corner of Elm Terrace. We awoke this morning to a steady flow of water oozing out of the top of the street and, remarkably, it is so cold outside that the little creek is actually freezing into an ice slick before reaching the bottom of the street. Since eight this morning the water department guys have been out there digging up the rock-hard pavement, trying to reach the broken line.
Meanwhile, I have no water and in less than an hour there will be five middle-school girls in my house getting ready for their middle-school dance tonight. I can’t wait.