To Do List

The rains came, the flood didn’t, the snow went away. I can scratch off “shovel driveway” from my To Do list. Hooray! And I didn’t even have to shovel to achieve it!

 Every year, when the snow melts, I start hoping for an early spring. Look! I see snow drops! Daffodils can’t be far behind...oh.

 Right. I still have half a bag of unplanted daffodils sitting on my steps, waiting for the next ground thaw so I can poke them in the dirt. “Plant Daffodils” was on my to do list at one time---way back in October. Then I got the flu, topped it off with pneumonia, which cumulated in a trip to the ER, a whopping, big bill and an additional two weeks of recovery time.

By then it was Thanksgiving, and my to do list was full of mashed potato making/eating/reheating/eating more. All thoughts of daffodils were long gone.

At some point between Christmas and New Year’s, daffodils made it back on to my list. The sun warmed the ground enough in a few spots that I was able to stick some daffs in the diggable earth. It sure will be interesting to see where those spots were.

Wherever they were, there wasn’t enough of them to plant ALL of the daffodils, so back on the front steps the bag went—a location guaranteed to guilt me into finishing the job. Or not—because there they still sit, growing either mushier by the day or trying to grow right there in the bag.

Last week I was confessing this to my co-workers, and one—who shall remain nameless, but whose name rhymes with “AzzelHanna”—suggested I could just wait until the survivors had little green tops and then carefully tuck them, already growing, into pots. That’s genius, really. I’ll put it on my list.

Next week: Part 2 of To Do List. Probably. If I remember to put “Finish To Do List” on my to do list.

S'now Fair

It has been brought to my attention that not everything about snow is awful.

 Fine. Here then is the definitive list of positive snow attributes: 

1) Snow Pack equals more runoff/less fire danger. 

2) Snow in the mountains means happy skiers, healthy local economy. 

3) Snow fall is beautiful.

That’s it. That’s the list. End column.

 P.S. All those things would still be accomplished without the snow falling IN MY DRIVEWAY. Just sayin’.

And then my grandson came to play in the snow at Nana Sugar’s house...

We went sledding on the piles of snow my shoveling had created. We rolled snowballs and shook snow from tree limbs. We ate snow, and left funny footprints, and stomped in the slush—huzzah! We even watched his mama demonstrate how to make the perfect snow angel. 

I had forgotten that snow can be—dare I say—FUN?

Snow fun

John-Boy Shane made the snow fun again. Perhaps shoveling can be fun as well? In the interest of science, I decided to conduct an experiment to prove the theory.

Someone call CPS!

   

Turns out my grandson takes after me. Shoveling snow sucks.  He was not at all amused by my Tom Sawyer attempts to convince him otherwise. He questioned my judgement. He doubted my honesty. He even lamented the fact that it is difficult to contact people concerned with child labor laws on the weekend. He only shoveled two scoops and then he was done.

Serious side-eye

Maybe next time, I’ll bribe him with hot chocolate and a nap...

Snow Thoughts

S-Word, S-Word, S-Word!

I have some thoughts on snow, would you like to hear them?

1)      “Snow” is the original “S” word. 2) Snow in the mountains is good. 3) Snow in my driveway is not good. 4) Snow has my reaction built right into it—NO. Although, to be honest, my reaction would be spelled more like this: sNONONONONONONOw. Except that the end of the word would somehow look less like “now” and more like “never after December 25.”

2)       

I survived The Snowpocalypse Power Outage of 2019—but only because of my inner MacGyver, my hoarder’s supply of candles, and my next-door neighbor’s tractor. I vowed I would I would buy both a generator and a snowblower. I even made myself and action-item list and posted it on my fridge—that’s how serious I was about my War on Snow.

Then spring came, and I started fiddling with my lawnmower, and building a fence, and playing with my flowers and before you know it—it was August.

In August, Costco sent me a notification that snowblowers were now on sale. “Sale” is probably my favorite four-letter “S” word. I read the specs, I read the reviews, I was suitably impressed. Look, electric start! Heated handle bar! Repositionable thingamajig! A cup holder! All for the low, low price of $$YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME$$$.

Still—a snowblower would make my snow shovel obsolete...and perhaps a snowblower in my garage would function along the same principle of bringing an umbrella to a Little League game? You know the principle, the bigger the umbrella you bring, the less likely it is you will have to use it.  I added the snowblower to my shopping cart and thought about it.

I thought about it so thoroughly that by the time I decided to pull the trigger and buy the dang thing the sale was over and the item was no longer available.

Fast forward to 2020—four days of snowfall, one broken snow shovel later...bet you’ll never guess which four-letter “S” word I’m thinking of now.

My Wish for You

We are headed into the shortening of the light, day slipping into night at a faster rate. We push back against the darkness with light—Christmas lights, candle lights-- the light shared with those we love; the light commemorating those we have lost.

I have a favorite poem I like to read this time of year, “In Dark December,” by Ralph Murre. Worth the google, I promise. You can also find his work here: http://littleeaglereverse.blogspot.com  The poem begins simply “Whatever you believe, whatever you do not, there are sacred rite you must perform in dark December...” and goes on to encourage the coming together, the feasting and friendship between “...family and friends, cool cats and stray dogs alike...” and invites us to “...Reach so far in your sharing that you hold the sun in one hand, the stars in the other, and no one between is hungry...”

The simple beauty of those words, the truth and hope in them, are a candle all their own, a reminder to “Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle”-JM Barry.

 This Christmas is not my First Worst, but it will be for some. I remind myself to be kinder; to hold the sun and stars and to light the in-between places; to build—not walls—but a bigger table, room for cool cats and stray dogs, alike.

So, whatever you believe, whatever you do not—whatever state your heart is in, I wish you Peace. How ever 2019 has treated you, whatever it is you see when you stop and look behind you, may 2020 be a better year. May we be kind to one another, may we be gentle with ourselves. And, in the immortal words of Tiny Tim, may “God bless us, everyone!”