I have been meaning to write this since the blizzard, but i'm confident the memory won't fade any time soon.
Holy shoes what a blizzard. Without speaking on how unforgiving the storm itself was, I'd just like to reflect on it some.
For one thing, I had never seen so few cars on the roads than the night of February 1st. In the twenty minutes it took me to make the normally five minute drive to Jessica's house, I saw only one other vehicle that was not plowing snow. I was terrified while making the trip to "rescue" her, as my truck has been stuck in more favorable conditions than I was attempting to drive through. Visibility was zero, and I imagined that I would be stuck somewhere, and have to return home on foot absent two of the most important things in my life (Jessica being first, of course ;) Miraculously, I managed to make it to her, and even get us both back to my house.
The next immediate thing one thinks of when snowed-in for who-knows-how long, is this: How much booze do I have? Will I have enough alcohol to stay drunk for days, even weeks? (yes)... Who knows how long such conditions outside could last.
The blizzard raged outside, while we drank in front of a fire, and enjoyed the perfect storm that had us both free of responsibility for at least a day.
The next day, I woke up at the crack of noon to begin shoveling the driveway. Yikes. I exited my house through the garage, and stood for a moment, dejected, as I starred down a four foot wall of snow left when the door opened. The ensuing three hours of lifting with my back had my mind wandering. Where the F#$% were those brat kids that always beg to shovel your driveway for a dollar whenever we get a light dusting? I imagined they were somewhere warm, sitting in front of some electronic entertainment. Next, I wish I really did have some of the warm, spiced christmas wine I use the line "this is my driveway shoveling wine" to sell. Truthfully, I've never shoveled under the influence. Next, what happens when mail-carriers call in sick? Today, I would be one of those mail-carriers, but I'll still complain if my Playboy comes late.
Eventually my dad came out to help, and I began to get sentimental. Though few words were exchanged during the all-business style session of shoveling, It did dawn on me that this could very likely be the last time the two of us ever shovel any driveway together again. Moving out this summer, I would never get to suffer through this type of thing with my father again. It is always the odd little things that get me nostalgic. I began to think about the earliest memories I've had during winters at my parent's Bartlett home. There is something to be said for having a driveway of your own and a son to shovel it. I only wish to be so lucky.
