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Friday, February 8, 2008

Time Lapse

Hi Folks
Sorry about the time lapse between this and the last posting.
And More Snow

Has anyone calculated how much "time" is lost or wasted when excessive snow impacts a body's life? Snow is a real loess-leader item.

Consider xx-- xxthe shoveling.

Depending on how much snow has fallen overnight, how long the walk is and how well one can breathe, the initial shoveling attempt isn't too bad. Only takes an hour or so. Gasping for air in high altitudes is time consuming.

But then, you are back in the house, standing in front of the wood stove and basking in a sense of accomplishment.

Approximately, 20 minutes have gone by, when you notice that the wind has undone your efforts. The walk is completely covered with tall snow drifts; some of which are 2-3 feet high, and a UPS delivery is expected. It's that second shoveling that will get you every time.

With one eye on the newly re-shoveled front walk, (as if guarding it with your attention will stop the wind and prevent further drifts!) you glance down and there, the little dog Pasha, wags its tail and jumps around with urgency. Pasha, who would fit into a small shoebox, has to go out. Now!

Most folks don't make a practise of shoveling out their back yards. It just doesn't make a lot of sense. Unless one has a dog like Pasha who places one paw gingerly on the newly fallen snow and realizes it is over her head. As she fixes you with a disgusted frown, she turns, trots smartly back inside, finds her favorite "spot", and proceeds to complete her business. Sometimes, shoveling out the back yard can be the line of least resistance when dealing with a smelly situation.

Whew! All that is done!

But then you discover wood on the porch is scarce and a tromp to the woodshed is absolutely necessary. (Have been putting it off for days.) This, normally, would be a time consuming task but not an onerous chore. Yet overnight a mountain of snow has fallen off the roof. Darn! If i'd known that was going to happen, i wouldn't have shoveled the pathway yesterday twixt the house and the shed. Now, there's a ten foot barricade from here to there. So ok, maybe it's only 4-and-a-half-feet. I know this because, as my feet sink into a soft spot, my chin strikes the snow cap and still, if barely, is above its peak. With churning arms and trampolining legs, the battle ensues to fight one's way to the top of the pile rather than trying to tunnel through it. You know . . . it's going to be a real challenge to carry enough wood to last through the night. The only course of action is . . . . Yep! You guessed it. More shoveling. (I have a hunch this can cause a heart attack but there's no time for one now. I'm too busy gasping for breath.)

Then, as with every blizzardly storm, there are the phone calls. Friends and relatives calling. "Hey. My car is stuck in a snow drift. Whiteout conditions. Couldn't see the road and drove into the ditch. Can you come pull me out?"

Outside and preparing to race to the rescue. However, the city plow, its blade aimed with precision, has decorated the car with a towering column of alabaster powder. The Mazda proudly displays its snowy mantle. And sure enough, it too, is stuck. Not in a ditch but in a snowdrift of a different nature.

Awe heck. I should shovel that out.
But it's dark and past my bedtime.

Wonder why these dark months are called Winter. These days of falling pewter skies when even a shotgun fired across the broadside of our nation wouldn't be heard over the howling wind shouting its discontent across a snow-sculpted land. Survival determined by the shovel full. A more fitting name for the season would be Lacuna. The blank space or missing part of time.

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