As some of you may recall, Nick and I often go on trips with our awesome friends Vanessa Lombardo and Tom Ball, recently married and even more recently prego. (Due date – July 09)

The halfway point between New Jersey and Ohio, respectively, is Schellsburg, PA. So, we packed up, drove halfway, and stayed last Thursday – Saturday in a lovely and charming old country house in the…well, country. There’s not much around in Schellsburg.

We arrived Thursday evening and immediately began on what we do best: talk and eat appetizers.

In addition to the great company and conversation, we took a trip to Gravity Hill.

I was so excited for this, I feel asleep in the car on the way there.

Apparently, on this “hill,” if you put your car in neutral (read, it shouldn’t go anywhere), your car defies gravity and begins rolling UP HILL.

(Inside joke for Tom and Vanessa) THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE.

Well, it’s apparently possible.

While investigating Gravity Hill, a little miscommunication between Nick and I ended in a small ruffle. While I jumped out of the car and said, “I need to take a picture.” Nick heard, “I want to take pictures.”

He heard plural. I meant one. Usually, when I say I want to take pictures (plural) that means I need at least 15 minutes to snap a few good landscape shots. But I didn’t want a lot, I just wanted one. Nick thought I said otherwise.

Leaving my jacket in the car, I hobbled out into the cold winds of the mountain and proceeded to take a picture of the pretty outdoors.

Then the car left.

With my sweatshirt on, I ignored them, thinking they were just joking and starting walking toward them.

Then the car takes off.

Not sure what to do, I stand in the middle of the road and notice a menacing looking dog galloping toward me and starts sniffing my legs, greedily wanting my bone marrow, I’m sure. This whole episode takes about 8 minutes resulting in me jumping back into the car when it returns and bursting into tears. I *hate* being out of control and cold.

Nick is apologetic. I am embarrassed.

We get over it and Tom buys us whoopie pies, which are basically Suzi-Q cakes on steroids with enough frosting to kill an army of kindergarteners.

So, the weekend continues with more chatter about Baby Lom-ball-do, Tripoly, and enchiladas.

On Saturday afternoon, Nick and I took off and headed right into the snow mess that was blanketing NE Ohio. Terrific.

Fifteen miles into our drive, we see signs for the Flight 93 Memorial from 9/11. Of course we stop and stay about 35 minutes to see what was there.

The pictures tell more than we ever could. We both got teary as we saw the pictures of the 40 passengers and heard their stories of love, courage, and final good-byes.
There is a plan to finish the memorial in 2011, the ten year anniversary of the attacks.

As we drove home, of course, I fell asleep and entrusted my life to Nick’s driving capabilities.

After about five hours, we are unable to enter our driveway because the snow is too deep. We park in the street and dig out the shovels from the garage. As we begin working, Nick stops and says, “Wait, let’s think about this.”

I wait. “Ok. What are we thinking about?”

Nick looks at the house, “What direction does our house face?”

I have no idea what in the hell he is talking about, “I really have no clue. What do we need that for? Let’s shovel.”

Nick is looking around, “What direction is the wind blowing?”

“How should I know? The wind blows in all directions. I’m digging, no more questions.”

He explains, “I’m just trying to figure out snow drifts and stuff.”

I counter, “This I realize, but I don’t feel like standing outside talking while we have a foot of snow burying our driveway.”

We get to work.

About 40 minutes later, we run out of steam and only have about half of the driveway cleared.

Good enough for now.

Yeah, winter’s here.