Ode to snow, part 2

http://wintercenter.homestead.com/files/1978vt.jpg
http://wintercenter.homestead.com/files/1978vt.jpg

My thoughts wandered, fueled by cold and the discomfort of muscles that are rarely used screaming their displeasure at being exploited in the manner required by shoveling.

I remember being handed a shovel and instructions to go “do the front steps” of our house. We had a house with 14 concrete steps at that time. “Do the steps” was an hour at least of back breaking work. Should I mention that we lived in that house during the blizzard of ’78?

I had to go outside and shovel with my scaled-to-my-size shovel gifted to me for Christmas by mom and dad when I was four years old. Even though my midlife memory leaves something to be desired (reference I remember nothing by Nora Ephron), I swear, it’s true! I have a picture around here somewhere….

My parents stayed inside and smiled and waved at us kids while we kids were outside shoveling.

As it should be.

The 50 year old mom shouldn’t be outside shoveling while the 13 year old daughter is inside glued to her itouch.

Then I had another thought. When my mother was 50 years old, she couldn’t shovel. She was busy being diagnosed with a stage IV pelvic cancer of an uncertain type. She couldn’t shovel. She was busy dying.

Suddenly, I was very happy to be a 50 year old woman outside shoveling.  A woman with 2 happy, healthy kids, married to the love of my life. A woman with a strong, healthy body for whom shoveling was not only possible, but beneficial cardiovascularly speaking. A woman with a house and yard that needed shoveling.

Wayne Dyer was right: “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

Ode to snow, part 1

snowIt snowed last night.

A lot.

You know; the kind of snow that makes it almost impossible to open your freakin’ back door and get out of your house? Worse, it fell on top of the same kind (and amount) of snow that fell two days ago. The large accumulations that always come when the weather people are forecasting a dusting to an inch. The kind that always comes when your husband is out of state and  your adult son is unable to help. Massive snowfall.

I woke up my (adult) son.

Me: “Hey, give me your car keys and I’ll start your car. What time do you have to be at work? You’re going to need some extra time today.”

Him: “Hrumph.”

I started his car. I cleaned it off. After he left, I woke my (teenaged) daughter. Made her lunch. Then I grabbed my snow gear (note: it is really MOM who needs the snow pants, not the kids) and headed outside to (try to) shovel.

You know, it’s hard to shovel when the snow banks are over your head.

As I was freezing my ass off (25 degrees here) and my feet were going numb (my knee high boots were too short; the snow was higher and piled into them every time I took a step, and my socks had migrated somewhere into the boot and were no longer covering my feet), my thoughts were interrupted by my aforementioned (did I say she’s 13?) daughter waving and smiling at me from the window.

What is wrong with this picture?

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…to be continued…