Five months ago the bright yellow snow shovel lurked in the back of the garage, giggling and biding its time. It was creepy and irritating.
Today the show shovel made its move to the front of the garage. It rests on the snow thrower. The WideEyedSpouse and I excavated the snow thrower from under a heap of empty plant pots and landscaping tools in the back corner. It now lives in a prime position in the front so that when, not if, the snows come I can just crack open the carriage door and drag that wretched, growling, exhaust belching machine out into the winter calm.
I like to stand for a moment in the quiet hiss of a million flakes landing and wallow in the low skies and monochromatic peace of the snows before I crank up the 2-stoke. After that it’s all shock and awe and far flung snow masses and the crunchy rip of dog toys grinding through the blades and fwoop, out the chute into the neighbor’s yard. There’s no serenity in these moments of driveway clearing. Of course there’s no pain either and that’s the whole point of a snow thrower isn’t it?
One hundred feet of driveway. Fifteen minutes of roar, putt, putt, putt, roar. Ten minutes of detail work with the vile snow shovel and I’m back inside for coffee. The WideEyedSpouse always looks so fresh and clean and relaxed when I drag my snowy, motor oil stinking self back inside. He leaves for work early. I leave for work by climbing the stairs from the kitchen. An unfortunate side effect of my work-from-home life includes responsibility for the snow thrower.
I guess I better get some 2-stroke oil and a gallon of gas. The clouds are rolling in, the temperatures are dropping.