After slogging through the weekend and getting one precious, single, instagram, beautiful, few hours of sun, no wind, and non-subzero temps, everything just went to Toledo in a handbag. I follow the weather forecast almost like a religion. Or one of those British soap operas that everyone gets addicted to. You can have your Dowton Abbey - just please leave me to my 10-minutes-after-the-hour-weather-update. The fact that I keep believing these nimrods makes me realize why the folks at Mensa are not beating down my door. All weekend, I heard dire predictions of another oncoming snowmageddon. Pooh-pooh, sez I. MY weather guy said it was going to be waaaay too far south to bring us much grief.
As I sat at the Firehouse Breakfast on Sunday, listening to school bus drivers (there always seems to be a preponderance of school bus drivers at these things) chortling about their upcoming snow day, I pooh-poohed again.
Then I woke up at 4A Monday morning to six inches of snow and a forecast of snow - with wind - all day long. Luckily, our office decided to officially close, so I won't be using every one of my vacation days shoveling snow. I hope. It's only the first week of February, after all. And don't get me started on the idiotic devotion to the shadow/no shadow of an entitled rodent.
So, I shoveled. And shoveled again. And again. I took ibuprofen and shoveled some more. We ended up with over a foot. There was so much blowing snow, that I didn't get my mail because the postman couldn't reach my postbox. I gave the chickens a good 15 minute pep talk, which I had to take back this morning, when the thermometer registered a high of -15*. Instead, I apologized for living in the Northeast, for the fact that I couldn't refill their heated waterer because the lid was frozen on, for the fact that I couldn't take the wool blanket down from the window to let more light in. For the fact that they are forced to live wingtip-to-wingtip for another three days.
Then I went out to deliver the same mea culpa to the sheep. But, just before I reached them, I fell. In waist deep snow. While it was nice to have such a nice cushion, it posed a problem. I was geared up for the weather - thermal boots, lined chinos, thermal Carhartts, down parka, double mittens, dork hat, scarf. I could not move. As I lay there, looking up into the frigid sky, I contemplated my options. Then I halibuted around for a while, until I wound up on hands and knees. Then I did my best imitation of a winter inch worm and made it over to the fence. Where three pair of ovine eyes were contemplating me with alarm. The camelid eyes are too cloudy to contemplate much. I hauled myself up, brushed the snow off and continued with morning chores.
Then I came inside and got ready for my slip-slidey trip over the mountains to my 9 o'clock mammogram.
There is no end to the fun around here...