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Can You Dig It?

Well, it is Wuss-out Wednesday today.  I got the day off work due to Winter Storm Stella (I like “winter storm” better than “nor’easter”; it makes me feel like I’m under 70 and I still have all my teeth) (was that a dreadful thing to say?  There is nothing wrong with being over 70 and toothless; I may be there myself one day) (but this is not that day).

Where was I?  Ah yes, telling you a little about my day.  The best part was going back to bed after I got up and found out all shifts were cancelled at my place of employment.  The worst part was spending over two and a half hours shoveling the driveway. However, even that had its moments.

I wanted to take some “before” pictures for this blog.  When the extent of the task became apparent, I abandoned the Tablet and just started digging.  For another reason, I was afraid the sheer whiteness of the view would make it harder to see where the snow ended.  I could barely see where the snow ended, and I was right there.

Our neighbor, who owns half the two car garage and has driveway rights, had snow-blowed a path from his half of the garage (where he keeps his snowblower) to the sidewalk.  That definitely helped, because the rest of the driveway was quite impassible.  I think he also blew out the very end of our driveway, because although it was completely filled in by the plow, it did not look as deep as other areas.  We dug and dug. I tried to keep my spirits up.

“We are bad-hyphen-ass,” I assured Steven.  Many things become more bearable if you can feel that you are bad-ass when you do them.  I paused to admire the bare trees against the grey sky.  No, I did not make it back outside to take a picture of those.  Sorry.

I sang, “High Hopes,” you know, with the verse about that little old ant who thinks he can move a rubber tree plant.  I tried to put new words and make the song about us, but I could not think of a word for “old farts” and a word for “snowbank” that rhymed.

“How you doing, honey?  How you feeling?”  I kept asking Steven.  This was not just me being silly.  People have heart attacks while shoveling snow all the time, and my husband is not a young man.  He also does not lead the healthiest of lifestyles, but perhaps I can help him improve on that.

At one point, the neighbor kids were out playing.  The boy did a cannonball off his deck into the snow.

“I wanted to do that!” I said.  Unfortunately, I did no such thing.  As we shoveled, my feet and hands were becoming more and more cold.

Finally we decided that good enough was good enough.  Both vehicles are clear enough to move, with enough space to make it to the road.  It ain’t beautiful, but it’ll do.  I hit the showers.

And almost cried when the warm water hit my toes! My thighs, which were bright red, stung like hell as well.  What a dreadful feeling!  It is good we did not take any longer than we did with our shoveling.  I do not need to lose any toes to frostbite; I need them to count to twenty!

 

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