Sadly, the character of the snowpack this year in Massachusetts has been a major disappointment. It falls and melts and freezes again, leaving sheets of ice that I find unpleasant when showshoeing and treacherous when driving.
Why, just this afternoon I spent an hour and a half digging my car out of the snowbank on the downhill side of the driveway. dig and shift, dig and shift, get all hot and cold and sweaty, and even then I needed a tow from Dad's truck to pop the thing back onto the road. This kind of winter wonderland, I can do without.
Now that I have made contact with that employer in the west desert of Utah, I am considering a radical change in my life: pull up stakes and drive out to Salt Lake City. Perhaps I can hang out with Mike a bit, put my visiting professorship to use at the library and computer center, and keep my head above water with some temporary job in the big city. My life needs to change, desperately, but it's not going to happen while I have myself locked away here in my beloved mountains.
About the word that is not a word, "by indirections, directions may be found out".
Besides which, I enjoy the way I can taste a word on my tongue - before I remember exactly what the word might be. Memory is funny that way, intimately connected with the senses.
