What do you do when your cousin calls you up at quarter to ten at night and asks you to pull yourself out from under the blankets and tea and laptop you’re curled up with and venture into the frigid night to go sledding? Mind you, by “sledding” I mean throwing yourself onto a slick piece of plastic and flying down the sheer ice slopes of Suicide Hill.
You say “yes,” of course :).
Today parts of me hurt. I’m pretty sure my elbow is still up on the hillside somewhere, and I just noticed a very large patch of mud all down the side of my jeans (yes, Alexis, I have been working on your couch under your blanket in these jeans all morning; yes, I JUST noticed). But that’s ok, because it was fun. You can see all of Windsor from up there, and the lights of the Ambassador Bridge stretching away to Detroit, and when Beth and I wiped out and flipped over each other, skidding to a halt only after rolling, falling, and kicks in the head, we laid in the snow and looked up at the moon. It had a ring around it. And it was beautiful.
I took some pictures the other day that I want to post here, but Deborah still has my jump drive thingy so you have to wait. Sorry.