Icicle
It's absolutely beautiful outside. Ice has coated everything, leaving crystallized images as far as the eye can see. School has been called off, and a second wave of ice is forecast for later this evening and overnight. The ancient house that I live in is conducive to icicles, and they hang from every conceivable surface: windows, drain spouts, the roof.
As invigorating this somewhat expected day off was, I know that more is coming for tomorrow. I decided that it would be best if SC could go and play with his friends at the sitter's house because tomorrow will likely mean he and I watching videos and practicing his writing skills. So, around 8:00, I bundled myself up and cautiously stepped outside.
From the first step, I knew that I was in trouble. I hung onto the door jamb as I gingerly tested my shoe on the ice. Ruckus ran out ahead of me, and stopped on the doorstep, shaking in terror. I nudged him with my foot and he reluctantly stepped onto the ice, breaking through to the 3 inches of slush underneath. Carefully, I bent down to the driveway and tried to pull up the bag of rock salt that I had bought yesterday. It, too, was covered with ice and slush and wouldn't budge. Hesitantly, as though I was crossing a rickety rope bridge over a pit of lava, I inched my way along the doorstep and stepped onto the icy, slushy ground. My feet imitated some amazing dance move, and I hung on to the door jamb - my only link to safety. Finding a stable point, I leaned down and tugged at the rock salt. It came loose with a crackling sound, and I tore open the bag. Desperately, I poured rock salt around me, on the doorstep, and over the two feet leading to my car door.
Next, I walked up to the car and looked at it. An inch or two of hard ice covered the car. There were mini icicles over the tires. I slid my fingers over the door handle and attempted to pull. Nothing happened. I pushed against it, attempting to break the ice. It didn't move. I noted that, even if I got the handle to move, the door wouldn't open anyway, since it was sealed to the car with ice. I gazed around the driveway, looking for something to hit the ice loose with. There weren't many options: more ice, the recycling bin that was covered with ice, some snow, Ruckus. Groaning, I walked back into the house - I actually grabbed the door handle and swung myself up into the house, missing the melting slush - and perused the kitchen. A knife? I'd likely cut myself. The microwave? Too heavy... An orange? It would smash... Suddenly, a lightbulb went off above my head, just like in a cartoon! I remembered that we had a hammer somewhere. After a few minutes of searching, I found it in the cabinet next to the trash can. I darted outside - well, as quickly as you can dart while trying not to fall on your ass - and stood in front of the car door again, carefully bouncing the weight of the hammer in my right hand.
I'm sure that you're worried about the sanity of using a hammer on my car, but I assure you: I was very careful. I softly tapped the handle - one, two, three times. A little ice chipped off. I hit a bit harder. More came off. Then I tapped along the place where the door opens. I needed to use more pressure, but eventually, the ice fell in sheets around me. I reached down and easily opened the door. This allowed me to start up the car and turn on the defrost. I went inside to hang out with SC.
About 20 minutes later, I went back outside to check on the car. The ice was so thick that the defrost had barely done anything. I grabbed my hammer and started to lightly tap on the car. Ice broke off - sometimes in small pieces, other times in larger chunks - and clattered to the ground, making a pile on top of the already thick layer on the ground. I got some of the ice off of the roof, and cleared off my new license plates. But the main problem - the ice over the front and rear windshield - was not fixed. Gently, I took the hammer and tapped on the ice on the front. You could see water underneath it, so the defrost was working, but slowly. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I questioned my decision to smack glass with a hammer, but then I reminded myself of all the bumps and collisions cars get into. It's SAFETY GLASS, right?! So I spent a half hour tapping and pulling on ice. I hurt my fingernails pulling off pieces. I pushed and shoved ice. I got a broom and poked at the ice. All of this was done one handed, while the other hand gripped the car so that I didn't fall on the ice. Finally, enough of the car was cleared off, and I leaned back, proud of myself. I had gotten that horrid ice off of the car, all by myself. I gazed at my handiwork and noticed...
a crack.
Yes, there on the front windshield was a crack. It split into three lines, snaking about two inches each. It was up towards the top, so it wouldn't impede my sight, but I knew that it would spread quickly if not fixed. My mind twisted through a few different reasons for the crack, but I knew why it was there. It was the fucking hammer. As gentle as I had tapped, the hammer had made the cracks in a slightly vulnerable place.
I went inside and googled "crack in car windshield", and I came upon several websites advocating the use of nailpolish and glue and other things to fix the crack, but I was pretty sure that my insurance company would take care of it. I called and made an appointment with a reputable company.
But let this be a lesson to you all: Do not use a hammer on a car, even if there is ice.
Anyway, the snow and ice are beautiful, and I got through the whole ordeal without falling (which, honestly, is tough for me to do, even without ice). I'm a little worried about the next round of ice, but I'm sure I'll get through it just fine. And then maybe I'll move somewhere warm. Stupid ice.
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