RETURNING TO MY CHILDHOOD

I Crawled. I Had No Choice

My goal was my Subaru Forester

Author’s photo of her crawling-to-her-car gear.

Stepping out the back door intending to load my car with shopping bags, recycling, and items to be donated at the local thrift store, I paused to study my path to my car. The driveway was dotted with patches of thick white ice.

The previous afternoon my husband and I shoveled and chipped away at the slushy snow that had fallen earlier that day. We cleared a path from the cellar door to the trash cans, shed, and bird feeders. My car was parked further down the long driveway.

We were tired and did not think about — although we should have — how the freezing night temperatures would turn the remaining wet driveway into a skating rink.

My eyes took in patches of black ice covering large portions of our 300-foot driveway and piles of crusty snow on either side.

My car was parked in the middle of the shiny black ice, dangerous ice that could lead to broken bones. Black ice is frozen moisture, a transparent sheet of slick ice that looks black on pavement. It upends feet, and car tires lose traction.

At 83, I’m not going to risk a fractured hip, knee, or ankle. Retreating into the cellar, I grabbed my ski pants, boots with ice gear attached, and a pair of my…