I Was Still Cheerful At Four In The Morning

Soon after I wrote last week's posting I threw myself into bed only to emerge soon thereafter and plunging alas not into a soaking pool but a taxi.  My first fare, an employee of Smarty Pants in Georgetown gave me twenty-five for an eleven dollar ride.  Boy! I liked that, then unfortunately one  no-show and one cancellation later there I sat upon Beacon Hill attempting to remain sane while I sat and sat going nowhere quickly.  Eventually after putting in a zillion hours I achieved some monetary goals chiefly due to outlandish tips similar to my first fare.  Why I couldn't you tell why folks were so generous.  I really am a taxi curmudgeon, growling at the slightest provocation though I was more relaxed this weekend, perhaps the healing waters' lingering qualities soothing the wolverine soul.  Regardless I survived the black ice and fog obscured roads to be sitting here now relating the usual taxi  trial and tribulations.  Was it only luck or perhaps my 47 years of driving a car that got me past the ice assisted crash in the north-bound Battery Street tunnel?   Another close call and then on my way, madness magnified by sudden sweat and not just theoretical blood.  My father gave me little to nothing but he did teach me how to drive a car well when I was twelve.  I still remember sliding on gravel in the Canadian Rockies when I was fourteen.  That and hundreds of thousands of road miles later aided my avoiding the two young women pleasantly chatting next to their crashed vehicles, oblivious to the real danger sliding around them. Amazing!  In general drivers this weekend were far more blatantly reckless.  Why?  I will never know why, another series of life's mysteries vanishing into the ether.  All I know is that walking down snowy paths is both more pleasant and productive.  She even hit me with a snowball.  Thank you very much.  And again, Happy Birthday too!