SERIOUSLY, SNOW IS *&^%$%&

Once again, it is a snowy day here in the Midwest and some of us aren’t too happy about it.

Sure, kids and teachers get a day off. Whoopie. Snow-plowing county workers are probably starting out the week with overtime pay. Yee Haw. Tobogganing is at its peak. Fra La La. Me, I’m cranky again.

I’ll give you a break and save the woe-is-me lecture. You’ve heard the complaints too many times before. The snow is heavy. I’m sweaty and there’s frozen snot stuck to my face. Seriously, I won’t even mention the work out I get moving snow. Wait, was I complaining again? Snicker Snicker.

If you’re not aware of this, I’m not quite the woman that needs chivalry. In fact, I’m mostly an “I got this” kind of gal. But I’m not going to lie to you. If one of those older, retired men using a snow blower casually walked over to my neck of the driveways and said, “Hey sweetie, I’ll snow blow your drive,” I’m not going to get mad. Actually, I might even let the sweetie comment and sexually explicit innuendo go. Because seriously, I hate shoveling snow.

As a result of the warm temperatures, as in slightly above the freezing mark, the snow is dense. This kind of snow is perfect for snow ball fights with the teenager across the street that has no idea he’s in the battle until he gets smacked upside the head. I’m a pretty good aim. It’s also great for snowman making (sorry, snow-person making) and making igloos. In this last scenario, one must own an official igloo maker, which by the way, is a hollowed-out plastic rectangle.

As you are aware, I’m doing my best to find the good, or positive, or a reason to be grateful while moving stupid snow from one place to another in a massive pile nearly as tall as I stand. Who wouldn’t want to do this for fun? Anyway, during this process, I force myself to think of happy winter memories. For instance, I remember my older brothers and my dad shoveling the backyard lawn and using the moved snow to create a rectangular perimeter of piled snow. Then one of the guys would turn on the hose and they would take turns watering the lawn. Over the course of a few days, (I was young and don’t have accurate details of the procedure) they would continue this method. Water the shoveled lawn and banks, over and over, until boom we had an outdoor ice rink in our backyard. Pretty cool, right?

Yeah, well, that happy thought dissolved when I remembered that one spot on our homemade ice rink never quite had enough ice. Grass blades poked through and it was the spot I always fell. My mind raced back to present day and the positive attempt to find happiness in winter failed once again.

My neighbor explained to me that the best way to get the snow out of the front of the drive way is to push it into the middle of the street. There, either the snow plows will pick it up or other weary travelers will crunch the tiny snow piles under their tires. Sounds perfect, right? No. No. It’s not.

I push iced, salted, heavy snow into the street, when through my ear muffed ears, hear a beep. I didn’t realize a car was waiting for me to get out of the road. I give the “my bad, let me get out of the way so you can pass, and then I’ll get back to the grunt work” wave. Did that woman just flip me off as she drove past? Wait, think of something kind. Maybe that woman was in a manufacturing accident and lost all her fingers except that one, the middle one. I rewind the tape and watch the scene again in my mind’s eye. Nope. Clearly, that woman turned the backside of her hand toward me, curled all her fingers into a fist, and extended a middle finger. Hmm, the nerve of some people.

Finally, with a clear driveway, I stand like a powerful warrior with a sword sheathed, or in this case–shovel, and scan the conquered the battle field. It was a job well done…until the stupid county snow plow pushed everything from the street back up my drive. Ugh. Here I go again.