It was an April snowstorm. The blustery winds were pelting everything and everyone with hail. Drifts were forming. It was downright nasty. Three days of nasty. Fortunately, I had nowhere to go and no place to be so I was cozy in my cottage with my pups.
On day two, the pups alerted to the sound of someone shoveling snow. I looked out my window to see my friend ambitiously shoveling my driveway. Wimpy as I was, I couldn't fathom going out in this Antarctic weather, so I just waved. In all honesty, my friend was probably just as happy that I didn't go out and help since I seem to get in her way more than contribute. She shovels with purpose and intention and I'd only slow her down.
Several more times, or a gazillion, I do not know, she returned to make sure my driveway was without flake.
By Monday, I knew I had to get the steps and walkway done for the mail person and besides, it was garbage day so I had to find a way to get my garbage to the road. I lay in bed working up the desire? courage? energy? whatever I needed to tackle the task. Soon the pups had to pee, so up I got and we trotted downstairs only to discover the there was a drift blocking the back door - coming halfway up to the window. No going out. Okay...it was time for me to swing into action.
By way of explanation, I have been struggling with chest pains for a bit. And before you get all concerned and "advicey" - smile - my doctor knows and we are testing and treating with more tests on the way. (Although, between you and me) I bet shoveling snow would be counter-indicated.
I started bundling: long underwear, extra socks, several sweaters, my Klondike hat, a scarf around my face and my down coat -- you get the idea - I was a cross between a stuffed sausage and the Michelin man. I thought about calling my neighbor across the street, Bob, and asking him to keep an eye on me and call 911 if I went down. But looking out the window, I could see he wasn't about yet. Remembering that my neighbor two doors up was a third shift EMT who would be coming home soon, I figured she wouldn't mind doing one more round of CPR if she saw me flopped on the sidewalk. So bravely, I put my phone in my pocket (thinking that I would even be able to call 911 myself....maybe), donned my gloves and stepped out on the front porch.
To my amazement, it was clean as a whistle. My friend had stealthily returned and shoveled the steps and walkway. Tears welled in my eyes. Okay - I cried and got snotty - and no, I didn't bring a tissue. What a precious gift!
My friend has the blood of a Yupper and the heart of a Samaritan. A special person to me and to this world.
Since I was already bundled, I figured I'd tackle the back door drift so I could let the pups out and so I could get to the garage. The plan was good. Now the challenge was how to get there. Both gates were not only in a drift but frozen shut. Pondering.
Back into the house I marched and fetched a chair. I came out and placed the chair by the gate and climbed up on the chair. From there, I still had a challenge - but assessing the situation I launched my plan and myself. I bent over and pushed off from the fence posts and did a sideways somersault - okay - a flop - into the snow drift. Between my many layers and the size of the drift, no harm, no foul. Just glad Bob wasn't up yet to see this Olympic move or he might have called for an intervention!
And yes, I remembered to put the shovel in the yard before my leap and tumble.
As soon as I got the door open all of the pups ran out and were joyously frolicking - what fun. Belly laugh fun. I love those precious souls.
I let them in and went back to shovel the door to the garage - not only to liberate the chickens but to make sure I could get to my car. As I turned, there was my street thug, Ziggy.
He remembered the last snow when I tossed snow balls for him to chase - he was staring at me with his little body in ready stance. This snow was not snowball snow but no matter. I started tossing handfuls of snow to him and we both delighted in this winter play.
What a beautiful and glorious morning; and how grateful I am for my tenacious friend.
Ann is a modern day Erma Bombeck - enjoying the foibles of her own life and that of living with 7 dogs and 2 hens.