Snow, Snow and More Snow!

 

I’m looking at over a foot of snow that fell yesterday and overnight and we have another seven inches of the cold, wet stuff coming during the day. The pair of teenaged sisters I thought I struck a deal with to shovel my snow this winter have not shown up, nor did they call. I gave them my business card but they couldn’t remember their own phone number so I can’t call them, not that I should have to call. I told them to come shovel whenever it snows. Kids! I’d say their whole generation is irresponsible but yesterday when I was at the grocery store preparing for a week of bad weather, a boy in his late teens who was in the checkout lane in front of me saw me unloading my cart with my arm in a sling and he said, “Here, let me help you with that.” I replied, “Oh, you don’t need to do that, I have lots of time but I do appreciate it.” And I did. When my cart was empty I thanked him and said, “Someone raised you right!” He beamed and said he has a great mother. Why can’t that kid and mother live next door? Why can’t all kids appreciate the effort their parents put into to raising them to be empathic, kind and well-rounded individuals? I wish I had a great-granddaughter. I would have tried to fix them up.

Needless to say, today brought with it the first cancellation of my winter season…a Thanksgiving luncheon at the senior hall. When the area schools are closed, so is the hall and its activities automatically get canceled. At least all that food won’t go to waste. Over a hundred street people will get an early turkey dinner. I feel sorry for the people who have to bring that food downtown, though. It’s nasty outside which is one of the reasons why I can’t decide if I should apply my Plan B to get rid of my snow or sit it out and see if the teens show up as promised. The problem with waiting is the deeper the snow gets, the less successful I’ll be at getting rid of it on my own. Better to make two and three passes throughout the day than to wait until the snow is so deep and heavy it can’t be moved without giving yourself a heart attack. And I’m kind of afraid if the girls see me outside with my little electric snow blower they won’t ever come down to shovel, they’ll think I no longer need their help. Decisions, decisions.

I won’t be surprised if the activities at the senior hall on Wednesday get canceled as well, the second in a series of genealogy classes I signed up for. Not a big loss for me but if I have to miss the Thursday lecture on weather and climate change, given by a well-known meteorologist, that will tickle my funny bone. Don't worry, I won’t go full blown cabin fever if I have to stay at home so many days in a row because by Friday when my movie and lunch club is on my day planner, the storm is supposed to be over. Hallelujah, and praise the gods of glorious sunshine and calm skies who are coming my way. I should build them an altar in my living room so they’ll stick around. Do you think they’d like essential oils, feathers, river washed stones and chanting? I could manage that. A bird committed suicide on my window yesterday and the dog brought him in to show it to me---he thinks he’s a cat---and I could still dig some feathers out of the trash where the bird's final resting place is inside an orange juice carton.

Last month I had to spend $1,200 on a dental vet bill for Levi and I’ve been watching for the points to show up on my credit card so I could spent them. I thought there would be more than a lousy $12.00 worth that I could use at amazon.com. I’ve had my eye on a pricy book of letters written by my ancestor, Mercy Warren Otis, and when I went online to check it out there was only one copy left. The $12.00 made a dent in the asking price but with only one copy left, how could I not pull the trigger and buy it? I can’t believe I’m going to read the actual words of a woman one historian has labeled ‘The Republican Mother’---me the flaming liberal, although I’m sure the word meant something different back in Revolutionary War times when she lived than it does today. The reviews were mixed---only two online---one glowing and probably written by a friend of the person who compiled the letters and another that said the writing style was too hard to read. Duh, isn’t all period literature hard to read? The struggle to understand what is underneath the flowery language is half the fun. The creepy part is the portrait on the cover of Mercy looks uncannily like my mother. They could have been sisters. Maybe Mom was a time-traveler and didn’t tell me? Anyway, so now you know what I’ll be doing on Thanksgiving day…curling up with a treat-myself book. That is if I can get my sidewalk cleared in time for the UPS person to deliver the book to my door. ©