Car Wars: This Time...It's Personal.

The last few years over here at Paradise Condominiums And Constant Confusion, we have had an escalating situation with The Plow Guys.  The whole thing finally degenerated last winter to the point where we received multiple memos in a matter of days regarding what we should be doing with our vehicles during plow operation in order to facilitate the process.  As each piece of paper detailed conflicting information and a reminder that these were iron-clad rules, the residents were left befuddled and thinking that it might be better to just sell our cars and ride horses.  They'd probably just wander off on their own when the plows came...

Spring arrived and with it, the chance to forget the nightmare.

Seasons being what they are, though, winter has come around again.  And the parking directives have resumed their regular delivery schedule and standards of stupidity.

This is the third time this winter season that I will be parking my car back in my unplowed space.  It is the second time that I have followed the Association's directions to the letter but still been left with a big pile of snow upon which to rest my chariot.  The last memo was quite clear: When you see the plows, move your car.  We do not care if you are in the middle of something very important, having a heart attack or not exactly clothed.  Move your car.  

It snowed for a good part of the morning. I saw the plows.  Fortunately, I wasn't doing much of anything, was wearing clothing and my heart was beating in an unfettered fashion.  I did as I was told.  I moved my car long before it was time for our spaces to be cleared and was well out of the way.  The plow arrived in our lot, the horn was blasted several times, and plowing commenced.  No one else moved their cars except for The Quiet Guy On The First Floor Who Nobody Really Knows.  And he was up before dawn to take care of that.  

The Young Couple Who Thought It Would Be A Good Idea To Install Sub Woofers Two Feet Under My Sofa waited until the plows were leaving and then strolled out to move their cars.  Nice try.  Too little, too late.  

The Kid Next Door Who's Dad Has Left For Parts Unknown And Who Is 18 Now So No One Can Tell Him What To Do just left his heap where it was.  He doesn't even get points for effort.  He will, however, be sure to move it sometime tonight so it is blocking me in tomorrow morning.  I know this from personal experience.

As my space sits in between these two delightful neighbors, it was left unplowed.

It has been four hours since the plows first came.  My car is still sitting in a snowbank over by The Dumpster Where The Zombies Live.  It is dark.  The plows, probably having decided to Teach Us All A Very Important Life Lesson, have not returned for a second try.  

We will all soon be subjected to another memo from the Board.  It will be taped to my door.  I will read it calmly.  I will leave it there as I have done with all the others.  I will then completely and utterly lose my mind.  It will be an epic loss of mind.  It will be one for the ages.  Years from now, people will still be telling the story of The Lady Who Went Nuts Over A Chastising Memo And Was Found Making Vaguely Obscene Snow Angels In Her Unplowed Parking Space.

Waiting for snow removal is a good incentive for getting stuff done around hearth and home, though.  It's either sit at the windows and watch for plows or sit and the spinning wheel and listen for plows.  The latter choice seemed like the one that might keep my sanity intact for a bit longer.  That way I can save my energy for the upcoming and very epic Memo-Related Loss Of Mind.

The pretty alpaca roving was plied up while I kept my ears perked for potential plow visits.  Since I only started this project yesterday, I do believe that we can call this a Record Time.  

OK...so it's only four ounces.  Not exactly a mammoth task.  But still...

Now that I look at it in pixel form, I can see that the color in the image is a bit washed out.  Which is, ironically, what I had to do a great deal of once the spinning was over and done.  The purple dyes in this fiber were used with wild abandon and my fingers still bear just the slightest hint of grape-ish-ness.  Once off the bobbin, the skein was given a good wash in Synthrapol, then a vinegar rinse.  The latter wasn't exactly necessary as there was little color left in the rinse water, but I was on a roll at that point.  I was A Girl With A Plan and could see no good reason for deviating from my course.  Plus I had time to kill anyway, right?  Several rinses later, the yarn no longer smelled like a well-dressed salad and is now hanging to dry, probably relieved to have the whole fiasco over and done with.

I like my yarn to know who is boss.  Since I am clearly in no position to control anything else in my life, it makes me feel better to know that something will live in fear of me.

With that project out of the way, I even managed to get another lot of fiber started.  I figured I might as well.  It was either that or sit at the window and see if plows begin converging.

Now, however, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma.  Darkness has fallen.  The car still sits over by The Dumpster Where The Zombies Live.  Do I go get it now and worry the whole time about suddenly seeing a grey, clutching hand reach out from the depths of the refuse?  Or do I just leave it there until the morning and get it when I leave for work?  I'll still have to worry the whole time about the clutching, grey hand since I leave for the morning commute before sunrise, but at least I'll have put the whole matter off for a few hours.  

It's a conundrum.  I don't know quite what to do.

The Big, Fluffy Kitty has offered to have a "word" with The Plow Guys.

C'mere.  I just wanna "discuss" the situation.  

I'm giving serious thought to taking her up on her offer...

SA