Snow Shoveling @ MindSay

So today I was in the midst of a brief text message conversation and it occurred to me that women can't write their names in the snow.  I mean, I'm sure some have tried but I'm willing to bet "my cursive is going to be perfect" is the last thing that runs through their heads (or your heads, assuming more than one woman reads this) when they are shoveling the driveway and have to go (also assuming that women shovel the driveway).  This struck me as quite sad.  Not only do you have to put up with menstruation, makeup, and the need to wear matching clothes, but you don't get to make cute designs for everyone to ponder, or to simply state that "you were he . . . . "  (sorry, ran out).  Well I guess it's up to me then.  Because none of you ever have I will write your names for you.  Every time I pee in the snow I'm going to write a different female name, well, for as long as I remember too.  There will be a Veronica, a Candy, a Laverne . . . oh yes, all the greats, all the not-so greats, and likely some I make up.  But sorry ladies, the first of the season belongs to "Joe" (with as many squigly underlinings as I have the will to supply).  See that, I'm giving back.

 

Till next time.

 

P.S.  I realize it's spring, I guess seasons don't effect (affect?) my mind wandering.

Wake up to my phone ringing. I've gotten in the habit of leaving it on on certain nights while it charges. Usually the ones where I'm not planning to be up early, because certain people who ARE up early seem to believe in calling me. Generally, these are calls relaying information I appreciate getting, though perhaps not at the time I'm getting them.

Hmmm...not the ringtone I was hoping for. I haven't been able to get ahold of Knuter since early yesterday, and I know he had quite a bit of driving to do in this nastiness. Fretting about Knuter is ridiculous, as he's the most practical and safety-minded non-stodge I've met, but in some way I think we measure our love for someone by how ridiculous our emotions get about them. Weird.

Our nursery coordinator, letting me know church was canceled. This is odd, but considering the Apocalypse of Weather that's landing on us over this weekend, understandable. Fall back asleep, 'til Dad comes in to wake me. For whatever reason, I take anything involving too much noise before I'm properly awake as a personal attack. I can't get mad at Dad, because he doesn't usually bother me in the morning unless it's important. In this case, he needs a hand with the driveway.

Actually, all three of us are being roused. I have to confess, Munchkin's the only one of us who really has a servant's heart, and I admire her for that. I'm up because I know I need to be, and I like shoveling. "Slug" has become the household's affectionate nickname for our middle sibling, due to her lifestyle. She'll be the last one out - roused eventually, but it takes a good deal of effort.

Yesterday was a long, windy ice storm. Everything had to be iced down first, or it would blow away. I ended up off-course twice going between the store and my car. By happy accident, I parked with my trunk and driver's side taking the brunt of the wind. This means that I don't have to wrestle these plates of ice off my windshield (when I say iced-down, I mean it. Everything is covered with a half-inch of ice without exaggeration.), and I have one side of my car that is not iced shut, so I can climb in the passenger side and punch my driver's side door open.

The night before had been just a very dense snow. A little odd - soft but heavy. I'd kind of like to try skiing in it - I don't know what it would be like, but it'd be something new.

Today, we got what the munchkin declared to be "cheesecake!" In about appropriate proportions, we had deep snow, and a two-inch crust of ice underneath it. Dad had been working for about an hour, and cleared maybe ten feet.

About the servant's heart - I meant out of the three of us. Dad's servant's heart is an absolute inspiration. He just takes it for granted that he'll be doing the projects, and he's always working hard without looking for praise. Just sees the job that needs to be done, and does it. It's a trait I'm trying to foster in myself, and one I admire in the people around me.

Four-person job. Dad's got the UP-er scooper (for anyone who lives in some far-off imaginary land like Arizona, UP would be the Upper Peninsula, Michigan. The idea is that they get scads more snow there, and presumably sell it to Texas and ski hills on ebay), carting off the snow so that our driveway is encircled by a fortified embankment of solid fluff. Kiddo's varying between the ice pick and the utility shovel, breaking the ice up into chunks. I'm just using a basic snow shovel, gathering the chunks and flinging them up on the snow embankments. Our sister is standing over by the van with the red roller-shovel, looking perplexed. She doesn't do very well with mornings.

The kid and I switch off a few times. She's trying to learn "lift with your legs, not your back". Middle-child wakes up and begins excavating the van. Dad's clearing more territory - our driveway looks like a tetris figure. I'll let you guess which one - it's got four cubes, and it's not the L. Once I'm properly awake (there's something weird with the world when eight-and-a-half hours is not enough sleep), I really do enjoy this. Making progress, clearing ground, actually doing something physical, taking care of something that needs to be done, being out in the cold, having fun with my sisters...life is good!

The snow's deep, but the air's not that cold - it's definitely above zero, and probably more than seven degrees out. I head into the garage and throw my underfleece into the back of my car, get back to work. Bit later, head back in, throw my coat into my car, wear just my underfleece. Much better. Dad's down to just a work shirt, too. Munchkin exchanges layers as well. It's a good day to be out.

Someone's brought the dog out. I have to love his attitude about life. Almost everything is new, being outside is great, being with people is wonderful, and let's go run over here and see what we can find! Constant spirit of happiness. Munchkin calls him over now and again, and he lights up, making these bounds to try to get through the deep snow faster to be with her. He's definitely her dog. We've got this game we play with him, pitching snowballs. He'll leap in the air and snap at them, and get powder all over his face. If he misses one, he'll go hunting for it in the snow - nevermind that the one he comes up with is nothing like the one thrown to him. I intend to have a shepherd mix in my own family someday.

Dad and the kid switch off, I take to ice-chipping. After an incident with the sidewalk, I'm a little leery of the ice pick. Already this morning, I've taken two chips out of the concrete driveway with just the steel shovel. I'll stick with the shovel, thank you very much. Dog's off down in the woods, exploring. Technically, in-town leash laws frown on this, but we're the only people outside down here, and he comes when called.

There's a constant banter being called back and forth across the driveway. Just silly stuff, lines from movies we've all seen and loved (that almost no one else in our peer group would know), bits of songs, a take on "Whassup?", banter about the proper way to execute this particular task, questioning the ethics of snowfall...all the things we are. I was voted "Most Unique" in my senior class, and it's no secret that my sisters will likely be attaining the same honor. I do feel blessed to have them as my family.

The kid declares that at ten we should take a break and have breakfast. Dad's response is not a refusal, but an argument of the merits - which carries the underlying message that if we convince him, it shall be so. A compromise is proposed, success is attained. All the snow's cleared, the current ice chunks are cleared off - FOOD!

Yes, we sound like that when we come in. Mom's been making breakfast for her four hungry bears, a fact that is well-appreciated, and admired. I wish I could be that kind of mom, but I'm pretty sure that in my family, I'll be the one who goes out to shovel - I like it more. Mom likes being inside where it's warm.

This is not to say that I don't enjoy cooking. There's a point of pride and happiness in being able to make something for the people you care about. But given the choice, I'd rather be out in the drifts, throwing snow and clearing ground.

It's a sort of breakfast-lunch. My concern for Knuter (who I STILL haven't heard from) brings him and the ski hill into the conversation. Debate about what today would be like on the snow, different places we've all gone (Mom and Dad's experiences have all been out East, ours have been here), terrific accidents middle-child's had, raucous debate and generally good feeling.

I know my home here is temporary, and that I'll have a larger family when I do go Home. But I can tell you that it is a point of joy that my current family will be there, too.

Random pictures out my windows of the snowfall we continue to get.



It just keeps coming down. At least Im getting exercise shoveling the driveway and walkway.


The cats enjoy watching the snow too.



Max sitting all funny!



There was alot of frost on some of the windows too.

It's a good, clean snow. Last night it was raining, but today isn't particularly cold, so the moisture holds it together without freezing it to ice. It's heavy, but it packs well, without breaking up into powder. Shoveling the driveway's a treat.

Probably five times out of seven, when I shovel the driveway, I'm wearing pajama pants. I don't know why - it's nearly lunchtime, but I'm on Spring Break (hah!) and the munchkins have a snow day. Five inches isn't really deserving of a snow day, but it's heavy, and it all fell last night. Whatever.

My dad comes in to recruit me while I'm ditzing around on a friend's webcomic. It takes me a few minutes to get my gear together - I'd put away a few things after Saturday was in the fifties, sixties, somewhere in there. We left the windows open all over the house while cleaning. I can't find my boots, and my usual hat is probably in the back of my car. I opt for the silly purple foo-foo-on-top one that reminds me of my friend Karen - hopefully I'll get to see her while she's home over break.

I'm the first one into the garage, and I grab the UPer-scooper. It's the best bet for snow like this - the red snow-roller would get about three feet and stop. Dad has one of the smaller standard snow shovels - we keep these three in the garage, and another small shovel by the front walk.

I start clearing a path. The UPer-scooper isn't designed to push a long trail of snow, usually, unless you've got light stuff. It's really for taking chunks, "bites" as my Dad calls them, and sliding them over the snow into mounds on either side of whatever you're clearing. It can carry half as much snow as you could put in a standard wheelbarrow, and is generally nice to work with.

The wind comes in spontaneous bursts - if you're facing north when it happens, you won't be able to breathe for a moment. I'd tucked my hair under my coat collar before I came out, but it's since worked free and keeps whipping across my face and catching in my mouth. I hate that. I toss my head twice to flip it back behind my shoulder, and keep working. This part's pretty easy - our driveway is a T-intersection, and I'm going down the long crossbar of the T. The part that connects to the road is going to rival a bad hangover for frustration.

I'm not really cold anymore - my pajama pants are fleecy, and I can feel the sweat soaking through the back of the tye-dye t-shirt I'd slept in. For half a second, I amuse myself with the notion of my back being dyed with the crazy pattern, but my face is still cold, and I turn a shoulder to the wind to begin clearing by the van.

The UPer is terrible for anything resembling detail work, and I shout across to my dad an offer to trade. He's working on the part that connects to the road - we're gradually clearing down to part we hate in the center. He gladly switches - he'll be able to clear far more with the bigger scoop.

I study the van for a moment, then head back to the garage to my car. Yes, my hat is there - and so is my snowbrush. Actually, when it's this dense, the scraper would probably be best, but it only takes about five minutes to clear off the Astro (I'm short and can't reach most of the top). Return the snowbrush to my car's trunk, and stand for a moment in the garage out of the wind, tucking my hair back under. It won't stay for long, but it'll work for a little while.

I like the little shovel - you can't throw snow with the UPer. I amuse myself by seeing how quickly I can clear an area, and how far I can fling snow without it breaking up and crashing on the driveway for me to clean up again. Dad comes to join me in a moment, carving a triangle around the trouble-spot, and we find the next edge of the driveway together.

My hair works loose again, and I cross the cleaned pavement to lean my shovel on the basketball hoop, calling to Dad that I'll be back in a minute. Head in, bound up the basement steps, and my glasses instantly fog as soon as I hit the landing. I can still see well enough to make out my sister's form at the computer, and greet her with a cheery, "Hiya, Slacker!" She ignores me - today is her snow day, and she's going to enjoy it.

Throw my hair into the low pony that I never wear for anything with people and always wear for working at anything at home. I don't think it looks particularly attractive on me - my jawline is too soft and feminine - but it keeps it out of my face, which is all I'm interested in right now. I dart up the stairs, forgetting that I'm still wearing my boots, and grab the last of a package of Girl Scout cookies the three of us had last night. I munch two while I'm getting rewrapped, throw a sardonic half-salute to my sister (also ignored), and head back out.

Dad's working on clearing the snowplow's pile. The plow's going to come through again, but we may as well work on this for now so that he can get out. I won't be leaving for at least another two hours, and I'm fine with having to clear out this pile by myself later. I walk up along the single-file path he's cleared to this area and offer him a cookie. I get a muffled, "Fanks," and I grin as I head back to what I'm working on.

The van is pretty much clear - Dad also cleared out the path to the dog run along one side, so there's not much more I can do. I have the UPer again, and start on the pit.

This is the problem-spot. Some time ago, the driveway was horrendously cracked. My parents could fix it, or they could pay my tuition next year - either way works. A few years ago, my dad and I half-filled it with rock from around Oxbow, and then the pansy pretty "river rock" Menards sells. My dad's handed off the UPer to me because his triceps are starting to feel the burn - my little triceps happen to LIKE the extra work, but I also tend to rest the bar of the UPer on my ribs while I'm running with it. This is fine as long as I'm on any other part of the driveway, but here the pavement is cracked and parts of it have shoved up against other parts. You'll be sliding along easily, and then the edge will hit one of these edges, and stop very abruptly. It's not enough to do any real damage, but my sternum is soon complaining about the bruises, and I trade off with Dad again.

Sometimes we work alone with our thoughts, sometimes we're calling lines of a song back and forth to each other, sometimes we're just talking over the wind. They're all standard for us working together, and I like working with my Dad.

We finish, mostly. There's only so much you can do with that hole. Heading in, and Dad comments, "Now comes the hard part."
"Hmmm?"
"Getting Elizabeth to move her derriere out and do the front walk."
I laugh. The word derriere brings to mind old British biddies in shapeless dresses and ridiculous hats. My sister is a physical cross between a marine and a model, and dresses the part. Getting her to rouse herself from her computer once she's settled in - that IS the hard part. It'd be easier to convince mold to dance.
He grins. "I'll take the dog out."
"Coward."
We laugh again, and I head in.

Unpeeling my layers, I inform my sister, who's lurking in my room for some reason, of her next assignment. She gives me a vague response, which translates into, "Yeah, I know I'm supposed to do it...I might get to it this afternoon." I mentally grin and shrug - my role is simply to be the messenger, not the figure of authority.

Head upstairs to make myself tea, and grump to myself because we're out of honey. My glasses are foggy again, but either way my world's going to be a blur. I stand looking out the window, watching the world's blanket fall in shreds, content.