As we emerge from Snowpacolpyse '09, I thought it prudent to reflect on the trials and tribulations of that experience.
First of all, any of you who had the foresight and the cash-money to get an apartment with covered parking can bite me.
I’ll say this. At least I own a shovel. Last year, on a brisk but sunny day in November, my Dad called me up and said, “You ought to stop by Home Depot and get yourself a shovel.” Which seemed like a grand waste of fifteen dollars at the time, but after this weekend, and watching dozens of poor souls use dust pans, mixing bowls and – no joke – pieces of plywood to free their vehicles, I can say without reservation that Father knows best.
Now, I don't really live in the kind of community where we have "block parties" or "joint yard sales" or miscellaneous “group fun" but when this storm hit, I mean to tell you that we bonded hard. There is something about carving your car out of a four foot snow drift that brings you a little bit closer to your neighbor. Also, when you’re “the girl with the shovel,” . . . you make a lot of friends.
Not that the warm fuzzies lasted very long. I visited Chicago a few years ago and people told me stories about the winter; how the locals reserve their parking spots with lawn chairs and road cones. I remember thinking, "What douche bags. It's a parking spot. There are other parking spots. Be a good citizen." Hear this: After the many hours chiseling my patch of asphalt bare, I would have cut a bitch for stealing my parking spot.
I did end up venturing out yesterday. I had to go to the Post Office [four days before Christmas, wasn’t THAT an awesome idea] and after driving half a mile, I ended up walking the rest of the way. My local shopping center was like slush-torn Somalia, with people inventing parking spaces wherever they could jam their Jeeps and Subarus. I came home half soggy, covered in grime and smelling like dirt and old person. Then, somewhere around early evening it occurred to me that I am actually blistered from shoveling so much. There are welts on my hands. You know that scene in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett goes to visit Rhett in the Yankee prison and she tries to convince him that everything at Tara is just fine? But then he turns her hands over and he's like, "Don't lie to me, you've been working like a field hand!" That's me after the fall. And my back hurts, because I'm not used to heavy lifting.
So, overall, I'd have to rate this blizzard Not Impressive, even though I did get a lot of very important things done, including but not limited to present wrapping and baby snuggling. How did you all spend your snowbound weekends?
I haven’t quite decided where I stand on this, so for now I’m just going to say that I think a 16-page pamphlet is a little excessive. At the risk of stereo-typing. . . that thing’s going to get burned in a lot of tin trash cans this winter. Maybe a laminated, wallet-sized, reference card. Something one could tuck into their boot. You know. Practical.
