It's a weird feeling to have your life in the hands of a stranger that operates a truck with a big, metal plate attached to the front. After experiencing the biggest snowstorm since I was a teenager, I'm now a prisoner in my own home. Granted, it's a nice place to be imprisoned, what with the HD TV and fully stocked fridge. Don't think I haven't taken the time over the last twenty-four hours to thank God for that particular blessing.
Every winter I ask myself what I'm doing here. Every winter my answer gets a little louder. I DON'T KNOW. Shoveling two feet of snow at 8:00 A.M. is not my idea of a fun wake up call. And my crazy husband refuses to use our perfectly good snow blower that resides in the basement. 'It's too heavy', 'It's too small', ' 'I can do it quicker by hand' are his favorite excuses. Today he rolled out a new one. "The fumes make me nauseous", he said as our neighbor offered him the use of his heavy duty machine. I tried to remind him that nauseating fumes were preferable to a coronary but he wasn't hearing any of it. Maybe I wouldn't mind so much if my son were still here to man the second shovel but since that job now falls to me, I'm not empathizing with my husband's sensitive nose as much as I probably should.
Now he's informed me to be ready for "night shoveling" after the plow makes it through to our cul-de-sac. This winter just keeps getting better and better.
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