After preparing for, then cleaning up after the lunch meeting and while 2 loads of laundry were being spun in their appropriate appliances, I shovelled the snow off my half of the driveway. Twice. All the time being annoyed that I, the mother of 3 sons, was doing what every other man in the neighbourhood was doing.
I’m not sure what was keeping me warmer – the exercise itself or the adrenalinized fury that I was tossing that snow with. Either way, I came into the house hot. Mad hot? Likely. Seems I’m always mad these days.
As is typical, I ranted at my offspring while they deflected any responsibility. So I did what I’ve been doing a lot of lately - crawled into bed and snuggled deep under my down comforter and watched another 2 episodes of West Wing, all the while trying to ignore the throbbing in my left knee and feelings of remorse in my soul. One and a half hours later I cleared things up with my boys and took 2 extra-strength Advil.
Sometime before morning, I’m guessing maybe 3 or 4 am, the power went out. Clint’s computer, which is right outside my bedroom door, has a $200 power surge protector and battery recharging unit attached to it that beeps nicely 4 times every 20 seconds whenever the power is out. In an effort to deny its existence, I buried my head under 4 pillows. Some time later, maybe 7:30 or so, my boss called to ask that I go in to work even though the rest of the staff was not going to be there. That’s just how important I am.
I got up eventually and had a shower. The lack of power made drying my hair difficult, so I didn’t. The shooting pain in my knee had subsided and I was left with that feeling I had in Europe…a knee cap so stuffed with cotton balls that bending it was an impossibility.
Back in October when I was on my work clothes shopping spree (20 minutes at Reitman’s before the store closed) I could not imagine ever being cold. So I bought 5 tank tops (black, white, tan, green and navy) and 0 sweaters. Getting dressed this morning I longed for something long sleeved and fuzzy. Alas, it was not meant to be.
After putting on multiple layers, I wrapped a 10 foot scarf handmade by a friend a few Christmases ago around my neck and the mittens my mother-in-law bought me the first year I was married and went outside into the blinding sunlight to remove the snow from my chariot.
First I started the truck up and turned on the heater/defroster then using a broom and a scraper, swept off as much snow as I could. By the way, the snow was light and powdery. And the wind was whipperly. (Meaning, as I swept the snow downward, OFF my Durango, the wind would whip it back up at me, covering me in a fine dusting of ice cold water crystals.) It was minus 7 degrees. And it took me 25 minutes.
Of course, by then, the freshly washed, still wet hair on my head had frozen into a pony-tail-popsicle.
Putting the truck into 4 wheel drive, I drove slowly and carefully to work, overcome with a desire to play hookey and just take pictures of all the snow covered fields, the snow laden trees and the snow-filled mountains. Twice I attempted to pull over to snap a few, but with no road shoulders it was clear I was a hindrance and liability to other drivers, so I continued on, trying not to dwell on the lost opportunities taking pictures through the windshild while moving.
I keep a butane curling iron in my desk, so as soon as I got to the office, I did some much needed personal grooming before getting lost in letter edits.
At 4:30 I called it a day and gingerly made my way back through the icy parking lot to my truck which I had parked on the street. Juggling my laptop, my binders, a few file folders and my notebook as well as my overflowing purse, I slid the key into the driver’s side door. (On my long list of things that have broken down this month, my truck’s key fob clicker thing ceased functioning as well. It’s back to opening and locking doors the old fashioned way – with a key inserted into the lock and turning.) Except, when it’s minus 7 degrees outside. Then the key doesn’t even go in. I walked to the back of the truck and tried the rear door.
Yes.
In, turn and click.
Open.
The door opened. So I deposited the contents of my arms and with hesitation, walked into the knee-deep snow that had accumulated on the passenger/curb side of the truck. No luck. The key could not penetrate the lock. Trudging back to the driver’s door, I tried deep breathing on the key and the lock, you know, to warm them up, to no avail. I had no other options. It was minus 7 degrees. I was wearing a tank top and corduroy shirt under a water-proof shell and dress shoes. My 10 foot scarf, angora mittens and snow boots were inside the truck. I was outside. My only access in was through the back.
So, with my ass in the air, I manoeuvred my not-so-bendy left leg up into the back of my Durango while I used my right leg to stabilize my rear end while I leaned w – a – y over the third row back seat to flip up the bench so that I could lay down the back rest so that I could crawl through to the middle seat then squeeze between the two front seats and somehow get my stiff leg swooped around to where it belonged – next to the drivers door. Yes. I did this on Enterprise Way. As truckers in their semis roared by.
After a fair bit of unfeminine body heaving, I hit my target and landed in the driver’s seat. Throwing all my weight against the door, it grudgingly popped open. I quickly ran ‘round the back and closed the rear gate then cocooned myself back into the front seat. I put on my gloves and scarf and waited, shivering for the heater to start blowing heat.
By the time I was in my neighbourhood, the truck was all warm and toasty. I stopped at my local IGA to pick up bread and milk.
You would have thought that my truck would have thawed out by then, wouldn’t you? I sure did.
But when I came back out to the parking lot, 3 minutes later, my key was denied access to the key hole. With a parking lot full of patrons walking past, I did it again. I entered my driver’s seat through the back hatch of my truck, wearing dress clothes and a fat ass.
I felt like I was in a home movie of my truck giving birth to me, played in reverse. (We have an old home movie of a large male family member eating zwei-back [Mennonite double decker buns] like it’s his last meal on earth. It was always much funnier watching that portion of the tape backwards – as if his mouth was popping out buns like that mini donut machine at the PNE.) So, as I’m climbing into the gaping opening at the rear end of my truck, I’m imagining myself on replay, in reverse, being birthed fully dressed, backside first out of my truck and half heartedly look around, kinda expecting to see Clint with his camera recording the whole thing.
The power was out for 12 hours and inside my house the windows are covered with ice. Not frost, ice. 3 mm thick ice. I’ve got my new furnace turned up and both fireplaces going full blast. My toes are defrosting.
And, tonight, for the first time in 18 months, my truck is sleeping all protected and dry, in the garage.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. It was absolutely beautiful today.
2. With the office empty, I got alot of work done.
3. Homemade scarves and angora mittens.
4. My garage is cleaned-out enough for me to park my truck inside. Of course, the garage door opener doesn't work, so I'll have to back out, run back in, close the door, then come back out through the front door ... but it'll be worth it if I can avoid entering the truck from the trunk.
Shalom,
In, turn and click.
Open.
The door opened. So I deposited the contents of my arms and with hesitation, walked into the knee-deep snow that had accumulated on the passenger/curb side of the truck. No luck. The key could not penetrate the lock. Trudging back to the driver’s door, I tried deep breathing on the key and the lock, you know, to warm them up, to no avail. I had no other options. It was minus 7 degrees. I was wearing a tank top and corduroy shirt under a water-proof shell and dress shoes. My 10 foot scarf, angora mittens and snow boots were inside the truck. I was outside. My only access in was through the back.
So, with my ass in the air, I manoeuvred my not-so-bendy left leg up into the back of my Durango while I used my right leg to stabilize my rear end while I leaned w – a – y over the third row back seat to flip up the bench so that I could lay down the back rest so that I could crawl through to the middle seat then squeeze between the two front seats and somehow get my stiff leg swooped around to where it belonged – next to the drivers door. Yes. I did this on Enterprise Way. As truckers in their semis roared by.
After a fair bit of unfeminine body heaving, I hit my target and landed in the driver’s seat. Throwing all my weight against the door, it grudgingly popped open. I quickly ran ‘round the back and closed the rear gate then cocooned myself back into the front seat. I put on my gloves and scarf and waited, shivering for the heater to start blowing heat.
By the time I was in my neighbourhood, the truck was all warm and toasty. I stopped at my local IGA to pick up bread and milk.
You would have thought that my truck would have thawed out by then, wouldn’t you? I sure did.
But when I came back out to the parking lot, 3 minutes later, my key was denied access to the key hole. With a parking lot full of patrons walking past, I did it again. I entered my driver’s seat through the back hatch of my truck, wearing dress clothes and a fat ass.
I felt like I was in a home movie of my truck giving birth to me, played in reverse. (We have an old home movie of a large male family member eating zwei-back [Mennonite double decker buns] like it’s his last meal on earth. It was always much funnier watching that portion of the tape backwards – as if his mouth was popping out buns like that mini donut machine at the PNE.) So, as I’m climbing into the gaping opening at the rear end of my truck, I’m imagining myself on replay, in reverse, being birthed fully dressed, backside first out of my truck and half heartedly look around, kinda expecting to see Clint with his camera recording the whole thing.
The power was out for 12 hours and inside my house the windows are covered with ice. Not frost, ice. 3 mm thick ice. I’ve got my new furnace turned up and both fireplaces going full blast. My toes are defrosting.
And, tonight, for the first time in 18 months, my truck is sleeping all protected and dry, in the garage.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. It was absolutely beautiful today.
2. With the office empty, I got alot of work done.
3. Homemade scarves and angora mittens.
4. My garage is cleaned-out enough for me to park my truck inside. Of course, the garage door opener doesn't work, so I'll have to back out, run back in, close the door, then come back out through the front door ... but it'll be worth it if I can avoid entering the truck from the trunk.
Shalom,
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