Snow Job
Yesterday when I picked my daughter up from school she told me, "We might not have school tomorrow."
"Who told you that?" I said, thinking it was some rumor on the playground.
"Miss Gilbertson," she said.
I knew then that, although not a flake had fallen yet, there would definitely be a snow day today. Because if you were a teacher, would you tell your class there "might" not be school tomorrow unless it was a done deal? Can you imagine having to explain to the kids, as they take their seats glowering at you the next day, that it was a "miscommunication"? And this is a school that offers occasional seminars on firearms, mind you. As in how to use them.
So today we slept in. Probably not much more than three or four inches fell last night, but this is on top of a foot of old snow, and it's still coming down.
DIH would not mind any of this nearly so much if only she hadnt' had her hopes raised a few days ago. Last Sunday I came within inches of buying a used snowblower. I have been working on this for years. Every year the same argument with the spouse. "We need a snowblower." "They're too expensive." "So is a heart attack." "Shovelling snow is good exercise, everybody knows that." "So how come you never shovel it?" "Because I don't want to have a heart attack."
Lately my longing for a snowblower has switched form a practical preference to an aesthetic one. Have you ever compared the paths a snowblower creates to the handmade kind? The snowblower path is a thing of beauty. Clean, wide, chiselled like a passageway in a Roman ruin. A snowblown path says, Come and follow me, for my ways are straight and restful. A shovelled path says, Come on, chicken, let's see what you got.
In Minneapolis if you dont' clear your sidewalk you get an automated call from the city and a citation if you don't follow through. So I have no choice.
"Sophia? You're a big girl now. Get out there and shovel the snow."
"Who told you that?" I said, thinking it was some rumor on the playground.
"Miss Gilbertson," she said.
I knew then that, although not a flake had fallen yet, there would definitely be a snow day today. Because if you were a teacher, would you tell your class there "might" not be school tomorrow unless it was a done deal? Can you imagine having to explain to the kids, as they take their seats glowering at you the next day, that it was a "miscommunication"? And this is a school that offers occasional seminars on firearms, mind you. As in how to use them.
So today we slept in. Probably not much more than three or four inches fell last night, but this is on top of a foot of old snow, and it's still coming down.
DIH would not mind any of this nearly so much if only she hadnt' had her hopes raised a few days ago. Last Sunday I came within inches of buying a used snowblower. I have been working on this for years. Every year the same argument with the spouse. "We need a snowblower." "They're too expensive." "So is a heart attack." "Shovelling snow is good exercise, everybody knows that." "So how come you never shovel it?" "Because I don't want to have a heart attack."
Lately my longing for a snowblower has switched form a practical preference to an aesthetic one. Have you ever compared the paths a snowblower creates to the handmade kind? The snowblower path is a thing of beauty. Clean, wide, chiselled like a passageway in a Roman ruin. A snowblown path says, Come and follow me, for my ways are straight and restful. A shovelled path says, Come on, chicken, let's see what you got.
In Minneapolis if you dont' clear your sidewalk you get an automated call from the city and a citation if you don't follow through. So I have no choice.
"Sophia? You're a big girl now. Get out there and shovel the snow."
Madness.
ReplyDeleteSay what you will about FL, but at least we don't have to shovel oppressive heat.
-J.