With apologies to James Taylor

21 Feb

blog image bob costas

I’ve gone to Sochi, Russia in my mind.

Because sometimes living in your own head is the best neighborhood in which to live.  Case in point:

1.  You already know the strange cat lady.  (Spoiler alert: it’s you.)

2.  Also if your head happens to wind up in Beverly Hills someday, you will notice that the police all look like models with perfectly straight teeth who, as they gently guide you by the elbow, will say calming things.  They are so smooth, you won’t even realize that you’ve been removed from the peripheral of “Mr. Stallone” until you are back in the parking lot of the Beverly Hills Hotel.  (PS: Sylvester Stallone’s face looks so Joan Rivers-weird now it’s hard not to stare.  True story.  Not mine, Spouse’s.  But I am invoking my spousal right to co-opt.)

In my Sochi, Russian mind, I am a tall Nordic blonde with 18% body fat which, when converted from metric, is like -5%.

And as I shovel the roof (again), this time I am competing for the gold.

You may not know this but in the Women’s Roof Shoveling contest, points are awarded for tricks like maintaining the grip on your shovel despite 20kmh winds, avoiding permanent back injury and not crying.

In the Women’s Biathlon, competitors come down off the roof through a seemingly ever-shrinking bedroom window into a house where the other dwellers have their feet up on the coffee table and are sipping cocoa and watching “Moonrise Kingdom” (again) to remove sopping clothes and boots without freaking out about how no one, not anyone, called up to the roof to see if everything was okay.

I lost.

Really.  I could be dead on the roof or have fallen to the ground, crippled, and there sits my family- inside, dry and toasty warm, watching Wes Anderson’s coming-of-age masterpiece (so well cast and scored, it’s crazy) and I’m not supposed to freak out?  Oh, there will be freaking.  No podium for me.

Finally, in the Team Snow Moving finals, I was able to force Spouse outside by using incessant nagging and heavy sighing but, sadly, our score was not high enough to place.

We may have to train more.  Like during the summer, I can start with “we never go anyplace nice” and see where that leads.

With enough nagging and practice, by 2018, we could be serious contenders.

By then I will have gone to Pyeongchang, South Korea in my mind.

Also- what’s with Bob Costas’ eyes?  He looks like the devil.

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