So. Much. Snow.

I’m sitting in my living room face flushed and unnumbing as we speak.  My toes still have no feeling.  I put boots on but thought I could skip socks.  Yup.  I’m brilliant.  There is ice melting in my hair and dripping down my face.  I’m not sure if some trickles are from my nose or from my hair.  I shoveled, hand shoveled, even though we have a snowblower.  I don’t know how to use that thing.  I was out there shoveling while it was still snowing so if I look outside…wait a moment, yup, its covered over already.  All my work undone.  It didn’t matter anyway.  The mail carrier, one of the ones I was uncovering the side walk for, came through the snow and up behind me right as I got started and scared me visibly.  (I got a card from “Sue and poodles” and I can’t wait to open it!  It’s a little wet now though, as I put it in my hoodie pocket and kept on going.)  Then I watched the mail carrier continue down the sidewalk house by house, all unshoveled.  Poor guy.  When he got to the opposite side I called out an apology to him.  He didn’t seem to mind, cheerful as hell.
My husband is upstairs sleeping.
His alarm is going off down stairs.
We never managed to bring in our Christmas tree up last night.  I hauled its fat snow covered ass onto the porch and there it waits.
My husband’s collar bone is broken in two places.  So this year I get to do all of this.

I get to smell the pine as I haul our Gus Gus up the stairs by myself.  (Remember the fat mouse from Cinderella?  I always want a fat tree.  I decided that the first year Adam and I got a tree together and I told him as we drove to Paul Bunyan’s farm that I wanted a Gus Gus.  I left him wondering the whole first year what a Gus Gus was.)

I get to hail all the neighbors out there with their snow blowers.  The do good neighbors who have been out there all morning.  The neighbors who are probably laughing at me as I ass over tea kettle with my tree up onto the porch.
I get to call out the the mail carrier I bet I haven’t even caught a glimpse of all year.
I get to yell to Mrs. Christensen two houses down.  The falling snow mutes our voices. Mutes the chorus of snow blowers.  Weighs heavy on the earth like a down blanket.
I get to sit quietly and write, down hot coffee, and then, soon, I will suit back up and venture back outside to do it again.



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