Just another quiet weekend...

This past weekend, Valentine’s weekend, President’s weekend, I wasn’t planning on going to NY State for the Dance Flurry, nor NYC for the Sword Ale, but in the opposite direction, to VA to visit my friend Susie. But Mother Nature played her part, with the City of Philadelphia right beside, and I decided that it was a better idea, and safer to stay put. My car was clear, but still pretty stuck, and the streets in my neighborhood don’t get plowed. It would be folly to attempt it.

Last Friday it was finally back to work after the storm. I mailed off my valentines and started planning the now free weekend. Friday I would treat myself, run over to Borders after work, and then catch a movie at the Ritz. If I caught the 8:30 train home, fine, if I had to wait for an hour, I would run up to Chinatown for a quick dinner first. Sounds like a plan...

But no. I sprinted out of the movie, not even catching the ending credits, and onto the subway so I could make the train. And I likely would have made it. Had the trains been running. But due to the ever-mysterious signal problems, not only were the trains not running on schedule, there was no notion of how often and when they would be running. And the Septa employees either didn’t know, or weren’t allowed to say. So I waited. I had a book, so I was okay. And waited. Did I mention that I was standing up the whole time? And waited. Finally after more than an hour of waiting and watching trains that were not the Chestnut Hill trains come and go, I decided to expand my horizons: I would take the bus. The 23 goes into Chestnut Hill and stops on 11th street, right outside Market East Station. Armed with a schedule and a supposed 5-minute wait time, I head outside. And wait.

A clump of us are on the corner, waiting for the bus, when a woman bustles across the street, small child in tow (it’s now 10PM), and tells us that the bus has been rerouted and is now running up Broad Street. I’m annoyed about not knowing, but fine; Broad Street is really only a few blocks west. Off I go.

Now, I don’t take buses very often. I grew to hate them back when I lived in a 2-fare zone in NYC and spent what felt like half a lifetime waiting for the Q13. But apparently, there are rules about buses in Philadelphia that I don’t understand. Like when a bus runs along Broad Street, even if it’s been rerouted there, not every bus stops at every stop. So there I am, waiting for the bus at the first bus stop on Broad Street. It’s late and dark and cold. But, the bus comes! I’m excited! The driver sees me. It’s a red light. And he won’t stop and open the door to let me in. He goes on. I give chase. At the next light, I catch up with the bus and knock on the door. The driver won’t let me in. Finally, at the next light, two women see me and stand in the doorway of the bus so it won’t leave me behind while I catch up and run around the snow bank and finally achieve a way home.

Starting out at 8:30, I made it home by 11:45pm. And this is only Friday night!

Saturday seemed more promising. I met a friend for breakfast, and he not only generously took me to the grocery store afterwards, but then helped me free my car from the grips of the snow. So while I still wasn’t going anywhere by car because of the condition of my street, it was nice to be free. My plan for the rest of the day included a lovely concert downtown, followed by a dinner out. I had to take a chance that Septa would get me there and back, but I made sure to bring a book against the inevitable waiting times.

All started well. I got downtown. The concert and the dinner were lovely. I walked across the river to 30th Street to wait for the train, happy that I hadn’t missed the last train home. I grabbed a coffee and sat down to wait. At one minute to train time, I went up to the platform. The group of us up there watched the train come into the station, and pass us by, stopping only at the very end of the platform, as if it missed. A few folks went down to investigate, but that wasn’t our train apparently. Our train was, in fact, no longer listed on the schedule, as if it had come and gone, but yet we were all still waiting. Did I mention that was the last train home?

So we troop down to the Septa desk, where the slightly belligerent employee does make a call to find out what happened. She tells us to go back to the platform (again, late and cold) or we will miss the train. She will not answer my question about when the train is due. We go up. No train, no train posted. Finally, the train makes an appearance on the schedule as 20 minutes late. And then 14 minutes late. Finally more than 14 minutes late, it comes, and I get home. It’s 12:45am.

Sunday. Valentine’s Day. A day I love. The day my car and I will escape Mt. Airy. And I do! I get the car out, manage to get down my street and Devon Street, which are both covered in snow and ice, and pitted and uneven and horrible drives. I drive out, eager to go anywhere. I go to Lowe’s to buy a boot tray for the entry and leave with $20 in peonies, ranunculus and lilies of the valley bulbs. All is once again right with the world. I am free!

I get into Mt. Airy at about 4pm, tea time. I avoid Durham Street, not wanting to push my luck, make it up the slight incline of Devon, turn around in the train station lot and aim to park in the lovely clear spot on the corner of Devon and Durham, which is luckily not full of trash cans or lawn chairs. Failure. I can’t get in. I get stuck. I attempt to remain calm.

I run back to the house for the shovel and the salt and start digging. I examine the situation, make a new plan, get back in the car. And get stuck again. Repeat. I am no longer calm. I am frustrated, sore, and embarrassed by my lack of snow-conquering abilities. Over an hour later, after several rounds of shoveling and moving the car by inches, I get out. And look for another spot. There really aren’t any unguarded. Finally, I spy something, not remotely close to the house, but off a corner, mostly legal, that I think I can get into and out of. I snag it and make my way home.

For me the weekend is officially over. I go home and get into bed at about 5:30pm and stay there.

And there’s more snow predicted for today and tomorrow. Wake me when it’s April.