This last snow was tornadic in its pattern over Kansas City -- a few inches here, a foot there. My front yard is snow up to my knees even in the areas that aren't drifted, and lanes are blocked on the road unexpectedly with piles of dirty snow. Last night, I was supposed to meet my friend for dinner a half-hour drive away. "I have to wait for Beloved to come home with the 4x4," I said, expecting the entire world to look like my street, which is plowed but peppered with snow chunks that have fallen off houses and trees.
"Well, she said, if you need a separate vehicle to traverse the city, we can always reschedule."
I started to suspect all of Kansas City did not look like my part of it.
Beloved got home, I got in the truck and took off. To completely dry highways, nary an ice patch in sight. Even the side streets in Martin City looked plowed. And, in fact, Martin City appeared to have ankle-deep snow, not knee-deep. I started to feel silly.
You see, I hadn't left my house since Sunday except on foot. As the snow continued to fall every night and every morning resulted in shoveling and snowblowing and all things involving ski pants and boots every time I left the house, I almost forgot about normal life. The little angel was out of school for four days out of five and I started to wonder if she would ever, ever go back.
The more snowed-in I felt, the more certain I became I should not leave. But the roads were completely clear.
It was all in my head.