Snow II: The Shoveling

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Question: Why do men suffer heart attacks while shoveling snow?

Answer: Because they want to.
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Everyone knows record-setting snows pasted Texas last week. Here is something you might not know: The temperature never dropped below freezing through this entire episode. As a result, the 12” deep snow contained approximately the same amount of water as a foot of rain. That means a 12" square; eight inches deep would weigh just north of 40 pounds. [Yike!]

I enjoyed seeing snow and to a lesser extent playing in it for the past several days. There comes a time, however, when one must get out in the world.

For me, that time arrived on Saturday. My pantry was a goody-free zone. Worse, there was no alcohol in the house. I know, because I looked. Everywhere. Even my emergency rations in the overhead light fixture and the toilet tank were gone. I was contemplating my desperate situation when the phone rang.

It was my son, Ben. He wanted to leave my 2-year-old grandson with me for a while. I subtly asked if he owned a square-nosed shovel.

“You mean a snow shovel?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

In a few minutes, his truck stopped in front of my house. Ben, Augie and the Au Pair slogged through the wet snow to my door. When I opened the door, Ben handed me a red snow shovel.

“I was tempted to throw this piece of @#$% away when we left Chicago,” he said cheerily.

After a few pleasantries, I possessed both grandson and a snow shovel. I settled Augie into the “playroom” (aka, the whole house) and stepped outside.

Until today, I never realized my driveway was a monumental edifice, worthy of inclusion with the mythic wonders of the world. “The Augean Stables have nothing on my driveway,” I thought. One scoop at a time, I began clearing the snow. Soon, I remembered my son’s advice. “In 5 minutes, you’ll be shaped like a letter ‘C’,” he said, prophetically.

“That’s ridiculous,” I thought as I gazed at my shoes. “Uh oh.” Somehow, my shoes had filled with ice water. Worse, I could not straighten my spine.

Still, I kept on. Near the end, I found a drift of snow blocking my pickup truck.

“Just this one last…” I wheezed.

I dug in and, in a few minutes, cleared the drift. My back ached. Bent in half, I retreated to admire my accomplishment. Now I know how Igor felt in those Frankenstein movies. At that exact moment, the foot deep snow on the hood decided it was time to go. Flumpf. The drift was back, as if I had not moved a spoonful of the wet stuff.

Choked with pain and frustration, I crept back into the house.

“Let’s play with the Choo-Choo!” I exclaimed.

I can buy liquor and food in spring.

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