Family: The surprise return of winter

Just as spring shyly and gently made its delicate self known to the world the unthinkable happened.

Snow was predicted and not only was it predicted, it actually came, and not quietly, but with a white, uncontrolled fury.

Of course, it ruined my one feeble attempt at being sweet pea gardener of the year.

I, for once in my life, I had done something ahead of schedule.

I had planted my sweet peas.

I was proud. Every morning I went out and watered the seeds and even touched the rich black soil gently with my fingertips wishing them a silent good luck before I left for work.

Anyway, when the snow was predicted, I, like so many others, simply went into denial sort of like when you know you should go to the dentist, but don’t.

“Won’t happen,” I said, to myself, confidently, like I was a weather man or something.

To verify my denial, I didn’t park in the garage when I got home from work.

Oh, I thought about it, but it would mean moving too much stuff and I was tired and it was Friday and I had finally guided my trusty vehicle safely into my driveway.

It was good enough!

It turned out to be a bad move. A very bad move.

When I woke up Saturday morning the wind had blown the patio door open and snow was already piling up in my living room. I took that as a bad sign.

By the time morning had drifted into early afternoon and the sun was still in hiding and the wind was making all kinds of wailing noises and the snow was flying vertically past my window, I decided we were in for a blizzard.

This can be a good thing or a bad thing, I thought. It can be good because I can’t go anywhere and I can get so much done in the house. Or it can be good because I can’t go anywhere and I can do nothing in the house, either.

I decided on the later.

Two Netflix movies later, I was totally disgusted with my lazy self, but seemed unable to move off the couch.

I opted for movie number three.

Sunday, I woke up a reformed person.

I needed to shake of the lethargy that had held me in its tenacious grip the day before and go forth and be productive and useful.

First of all I would go to church.

And so I, in my innocence, set out with the honourable intention,unaware of the fact that the snow had completely buried my car and it would take at least an hour to find it.

I slipped on my jacket, giving the winter boots by the front door a look of disdain.

There couldn’t be that much snow.

Alas, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so it seems.

When I opened the door, almost blinded by the sun on the snow (I believe they call it snow blindness), I could not see my vehicle at all, but only this huge mound of snow where my car used to be.

I found my snow scraper, but it proved to be totally useless, like a kid’s little toy, charming, but totally ineffective.

I finally got enough snow off of my car to drive it to the gas station, where some guy, also getting gas said, “when that snow slides off your roof, it’s going to completely obscure your vision.”

“I know,” I replied humbly. “I was thinking of gong through a car wash.”

“Well, he said, they have a shovel here. I can move it for you.”

It’s a funny thing about storms. They do bring out the kindness in people; people like strangers at gas stations.

And so the guy shoveled off my roof and I filled up with gas, shuddering only slightly at the price because, really, what do you do?

And, I proceeded on with my day, which turned out to be bright and sunny and almost spring like.

Later, I heard a couple of guys talking about our storm at the mailboxes.

“Alberta doesn’t usually get the worst of it like that,” one guy said to the other guy.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself. “This time I guess we did.”

And as I wrapped my coat more tightly around myself to ward off an icy wind, I felt a curious sense of pride.


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