The white party.

There’s not been a lot of writing going on this weekend, but there has been a lot of shoveling.
I just got in from what was probably my 10th stint of shoveling in more than 24 hours, and I’m not going to lie: it was awesome.

I’ve mentioned before that I love shoveling. I realize that in some countries this is an acknowledged sign of extreme mental illness, but I don’t care. Shoveling can be a lot of fun if you have all day, which I do. It’s an excuse to play in the snow, basically. And because I’m pretty much my own child, I will accept any excuse to go out and play in the snow. It’s my own big white party.

It hasn’t been all snowmen and forts, though. We had some excitement last night when our heat went out because our new furnace’s intake was clogged with ice and snow. We were lucky; if it were the exhaust that would have been much worse. Thankfully, my husband noticed the problem in time, and we were able to clean the intake and the exhaust off by hanging out the bedroom window at 2 a.m. with a broom. Good times.

Below are some photos of the snow, because
A) everyone is posting photos and I don’t want to be left out,
B) I needed to learn how to build a photo gallery in WordPress, and
C) I just want to show off our snow like a big kid.

It’s true. I’m not proud.

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The shovel has returned.

I woke up with a plan this morning: Coffee, shoveling, novel, in that order.

My plans to shovel were thwarted the instant I got out the door. I loaned the snow shovel to one of the neighbors, who is from a warmer clime and who looked like he needed to dig out his car in order to go to work. He accepted the shovel and took off down the street with it. That was an hour or so ago. Possibly he’s digging out a friend. Maybe he’s just running around, yelling “Whee, I stole a shovel.” Whatever he’s doing with the shovel, I haven’t seen him in a while.

I’m a little irked about this, because I  enjoy shoveling. There are a lot of reasons to like it: It’s cheap exercise, I get to interact with the neighbors, I get to be outside and there’s the instant gratification of physical labor.

But those aren’t the reasons I like shoveling.

I like shoveling because I can shovel any way I want to. I can shovel in a diagonal line. I can shovel in a circle. I can shovel half the steps and then decide to stop and go inside. I can shovel my name into the snow in front of our house.

I never do any of those things, but I can.

Why? Because of my childhood, of course. Continue reading