33 and a Light Breeze

Expect today's high to rise to 33 degrees Fahrenheit with a slight breeze.

A slight breeze, my ahs. The flags in the front circle are flapping in a stiff wind in today's breeze. It's great for anyone walking from the north side of the hill to the south, but the return trip makes the eyes water and the nose hairs freeze.

The "Blizzard of '26" blew through yesterday, walloping southern New England with three feet of snow. Here in Maine, coastal areas were smacked around, too. In preparation for it, the guv'nuh closed state offices for the day. I didn't mind, but I had to laugh when the snow didn't begin until early afternoon. I laughed even more when all was said and done and we received a mind-numbing one inch.

One freakin' inch of snow. Not even enough to shovel, which is just as well, since my shovelers were out of commission. One was lost to a bad cold, and the other to heartbreak (teen romance hit the rocks). However, we're so used to paltry snowfall at home meaning heavier results where I work that we hit the road early, fully expecting to wind up behind a state plow this morning. Ha. Ha.

Not a one. While we drove north, we saw a plow going south, with the normal half-mile train of commuters stuck behind it at 20 mph, but none ahead of us. Instead of arriving at work at 7:30, I clocked in at 6:57. I almost laughed. Then I remembered that I see my therapist later today and needed to get out of work thirty minutes early, and I thanked God that we did the morning commute as we had. No need to stay late another day of the week. I just had to email my boss and explain my early arrival. She'll approve the flex time. She's good about that.

I say "we" because my wife rides to work with me most days. We swap out when we arrive, and she takes the car for the day. Then she's back at the appointed time to pick me up. It's putting about 120 more miles per day on her car than she used to, but it's what we have to do until my son's truck is back on the road. That's the drawback. Well, that, and my having to walk north across the work campus into gale-force winds that freeze my nose hairs and water my eyes on days like today when we're supposed to have a "light breeze." Light breeze, my ahs.

The benefits of car sharing include undivided attention with one another. No dog. No TV. No kids. Our kids are 18 and 20, but the older one has special needs that require him to live with us. He can do his own hygiene and dress himself, but he depends on us for food and transportation. We love him dearly, but anyone who has been responsible for another adult understands that having some time away as a couple is good for the relationship. The younger one is generally independent.

Many times, our rides involve my wife retelling me podcasts or shows she's listened to or seen. It's a 45-50 minute ride each way, which is usually long enough to hear one or two episodes of either type. Occasionally, we'll listen to music or just ride in silence. Most of the 2025-2026 school year has required us to share a car, and it has been rejuvenating for our marriage.

One afternoon in December, we were almost home when I saw about a hundred crows on the greens and fairways of a local golf course. I pointed and said excitedly, "Crows!"

Without missing a beat, my wife yelled, "Murder! Murder at the Rocky Knoll Country Club!"

We both laughed so hard that I almost drove off the road. For the next several weeks, every time we saw large gatherings of crows, she made some crack about murder. "There's a lot of murder in Brewer lately," she say offhandedly. Or, "The murder rate is up in this part of Maine." Usually, I'd catch on two or three beats later, and she'd say, "A little slow on the uptake, ain't ya." That triggered more snickers.

When we got out of the car this morning to swap out for her to drive home, the "light breeze" took the breath out of my lungs. "Light breeze, my ahs!" I exclaimed.

"Indeed," she said. "See you later."

"Don't get blowed off the hill," I said.

"Not a chance," she said.

I turned to walk into the building as another gust caught me. Light breeze, my ahs.