New life experiences while snowbound
Snowbound – not really. Although it was a job clearing the drift that barred the door . . . Once that was done, it was a relief to see grass peeking through snow, as sheer as chiffon, and the drive, whisked by the high winds, cleared down to the gravel. For once, the snow was heaped in the street, where it was someone else’s responsibility to deal with it. I regret the lamentable joy I felt as the snowplow wrestled to shift that heap and shamefully admit the relish with which I watched the struggle. In what words I remonstrated that it likely wasn’t the same operator who had previously managed to block our driveway after we cleared it – time after time! No matter, that smug satisfaction kept erupting. In fact, it kept me warm the whole time I was shoveling a path to the oil tank.
What other nasty surprise can the freezing rain come up with? Folks tell me they fill thermoses with boiling water and plan one-pot meals when there’s potential for a power outage. We were more than ready for it! Lots of dry wood in easy reach of the stove, the washer filled with water, batteries for the flashlights and radio and the laptop fully charged. We certainly had ample time to prepare: I expected to enjoy the supply of books and DVDs we had laid in, while we waited out the blizzard.
The last time I had a day to sit in front of the fire and read was . . . beyond memory. How could one sit on the sofa all day with a book in hand and peer at it hour after hour? One must fall back on the habits cultured in the era of computer use: every 20 or 30 minutes, some little bit of activity must be undertaken to exercise the muscles and joints. I have already mentioned the shoveling, but it was many hours before there was anything to be gained by doing that. In the meantime, and before we lost power, the laundry was caught up, ditto the dishes, and for the first time in months I was at home in the daylight.
Daylight pours in through the windows in our house. We no longer really see the mounds of papers and magazines stacked around the place, but the cobwebs were rather staggering. They weren’t so visible in the pools of evening lamplight, but in the daylight – even daylight muted by a blizzard – they are quite astonishing. It seems the webs have taken over every corner and crevice, especially over the doors and windows and corners of the ceiling. It seems we are sharing our home with several species of cob. I never see the ones that spin these webs—long, slender ones; bunchy, hairnet-ty ones, funnel-shaped, too – but the homestead has taken on rather the aspect of Miss Havisham’s sitting room.
New life experience (and one not on the bucket list): sweeping the ceiling.