Snap, Crackle, Pop.

As I walked down the driveway after retrieving our mail today, I noticed a large puddle that had frozen since the temps around here fell off a cliff last night. All of the water under the ice had sublimed away and the only thing left was a perfectly opaque, white sheet supported only by the dirt around its edge.

I shattered it slowly with my shoe as I remembered committing the same act in many different places at many different times in my life. It took me back to my parents' driveway at age 5 (before the new asphalt when the old, broken surface created myriad chances to become a giant destroying an arctic lake), All Hallows School's playground (It was totally paved then. I wonder if kids are still allowed to play on it or has it since become actuarially unsafe?), St. Bernard High's parking lot (with the 300 foot stripe left by somebody in a small-block powered '73 Gremlin), and the streets of UConn which I walked everyday for five years (I never once took the bus).

I guess I never thought I'd want to thank a puddle for helping me remember some of what has made me, me.