Slippin' & Slidin' Feb.22, 2010

Yesterday we had snow, topped by freezing rain, which became rain as the air warmed up, then turned to snow as the air cooled late in the afternoon. Snow, ice, and slush, all mixed together in a four-layer cake of atmospheric mysery, the frosting spread by the loving hand of Betty Crocker, a.k.a. The North Wind.

As I slogged slowly through the slush, slightly slipping, slanted, slumping slouchedly through the sludge, I wondered two things, firstly, why do all these words, describing ungainly movement on messy pavement, all start with "sl?" And, secondly, did I turn off the oven in the apartment before I left on this run?

I'll answer the second question firstly: No, of course not. It was just the same old anxiety that I've had ever since I was in junior high, and I read in the paper that a kid my age accidentally killed his parents in their sleep by leaving the gas oven on before he went to bed. They slept near the kitchen, he, in the basement. The pilot light went out after he warmed up his breadsticks and took them to his room to eat. He could have polished off the whole box, had he known he'd have them all to himself come morning.

I didn't leave the oven on. I never have. I was so afraid of killing my parents in their sleep, that I checked every nob on the stove to make sure they read "off," whether or not the oven had even been in use on any particular day. I don't even live with my parents, but I still worry about their oven, so I call them several times a day, just to make sure they know their its status. My mom doesn't mind; she's just happy to hear from me. Oh, and did I mention, I have an electric oven anyway?

Now, what was the first question? Oh, the "sl" words. I actually took my dictionary from the bookcase, shoveled off the dust, removed the ten spider carcasses, and began looking at etymology, which is the history of particular words, not entomology, which is the study of insects, not spiders. They are arachnids, which I would have known had I looked that up in my dictionary, an edition so old that the definition of "grunge" makes no reference to the Seattle music explosion of the early '90s.

So, as it turns out, words like "slush," and "slime," are built upon the Greek root word "sl," which translates as "consistency of goat entrails." Well, that certainly
gets to the heart, and intestines, of the matter. Running in slush is like running on goat guts. I'll buy that. Not at a Greek market, of course. But maybe I should. I hear their economy is struggling worse than ours.

Now, to more recent events. Today's men's running/figure skating exercise covered six miles on the ice rink that is central Overland Park. I received no style points from the Russian judge, who is still bitter over the whole Plushenko thing. That name means "placenta" in their language. (This dictionary is coming in handy.)

I have now run all fifty-three days this year, more than one-seventh of the calendar. My dad is not impressed by that fact. He fears I will get injured. He said, "Did I mention that I'm not really impressed?"

Slyly, I slunk away, slinging slander.

Thanks for humoring me.