From my Boulder window I can see the private snow-plow clearing our parking lot; I'm peering out to check that he's not even near my rear fender.
But where are the municipal plows? From my perch I can also see Route 36, and whenever a town snowplow barrels through, I know it.
Ain't happening this 6:10 morning.
Reminds me of the blizzards of Washington D.C. 1996. Ward 3 wasn't getting plowed, and to its protesting citizens Mayor Barry said: Get over it.
Yet in wintry Minsk 2000, President Lukashenko had 5 snowplows lined up outside my 4.m. window.
That's when I knew "the totalitarian temptation."
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at the CrossxRoads
A cross-cultural life style can be exciting, or poky, or a speed racing existence. But throw it into sudden reverse -- and then talk about culture shock! Join me as I explore ideas, intuitions, likes and dislikes about my experiences in returning "home," wherever "home" may be.
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