Three weeks ago, it snowed. A lot. Eight inches of wet, heavy, heart-attack snow. The kind that you can’t just push off the driveway with the shovel…this was the scoop-carry-dump kind of snow.
The piles along the side of the driveway were deep enough to tunnel through. We also dug an igloo in the pile at the corner of the driveway. By we, of course, I mean me. The kids helped me along with their positive spirit and words of encouragement. “Hurry up,” they said.
Last week, before a single flake of the first snow had the opportunity to melt, it snowed again. Thankfully I was in Chicago so I didn’t have to shovel it.
It snowed in Chicago, too. On Monday night I kept waking up to the sound of the snow plow scraping asphalt outside my hotel room window. On Tuesday night in Chicago I woke up to a 4.3 earthquake. I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time (4am), I thought it was the damn snow plow again. Only it didn’t make any scraping noises, it just felt like the ground was shaking. Looking back now, all I can say about that is “duh.” After all, it was an earthquake.
I was happy to be back in Ohio on Wednesday. I was not happy to dig my car out from under six inches of new snow. Then it started snowing again Monday morning. We shoveled the driveway Monday afternoon; roughly six inches had fallen, and we were only to the halfway point.
[INSERT FUNNY COMMENT ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING HERE]
If it snows again - as it is forecast to do next week - I will be lost as to where to put it all. The piles at the end of the driveway are already six feet tall. I buried the igloo and tunnel (NOTE: the kids were able to convince me to dig them back out, because I am a push-over.)
But why keep telling you, when I can show you a before and after picture of the igloo. And I'll even invite you 'round back for a picnic...