Remember last week I wrote a lovely little treatise on the magic of the first snow. I wrote of the ethereal quality and the way it coats everything, making it look clean and fresh. How the light glints off every flake and the hushed silence that fills the air with anticipation.
Well my dears, the only anticipation filling my air is that which comes before the Snow Plough. It looms large, like some mythical dichotomous beast. At once hoped for so that I may haul my sad carcass from bed and actually get to work (at 60 km/h) and dreaded as I know, a cleared road means a blocked in laneway.
This morning, there was a thick carpet of the White Hell covering the entire world (or so it seems to me). I had not heard the plough and hoped briefly that I might not have to dig myself out—that I could just glide over top of the foot of snow Mother Nature had blessed us with and slide out onto the street and swim up to the corner where surely I’d find a cleared road.
Ha-ha! T’was not to be. The plough had been by as I slept. And there were a couple of feet of snow at the road. But I was well warmed up by the time I got to it having had to clear a path TO the road first.
The only things I am thankful for this fine day in December are my snow scoop, “light and fluffy” snow (which still weighs a ton) and Ibuprofin. Tonight when I return home to likely have to do it all over again, I will be thankful for Rum. (Must remember to pick up a bottle on the way home.)
Bruce, wonderful man that he is, has offered to come and help dig me out tonight. I’m hoping that it won’t be another avalanche like this morning as he’s going to head home afterwards to dig himself out when he gets there.
I bet you want to know the ironic thing here (because there’s always some ironic thing going on: I have a snow blower. It is a huge beast that lives in my barn. It belches black smoke and flame and not so much throws the snow as it evaporates it, but none of this matters much. I haven’t the slightest idea how to 1) turn it on or 2) run it so that it doesn’t hit my car or the house for that matter. Yes, sometimes I am a silly woman.
Anyone know I good small engine repair guy who makes house calls?
Oh, I’d have attached a picture to this post but the background to my blog is white anyway. Just imagine that’s what it looks like outside…because it does. Everywhere I look.