The Price to Pay

    Snowdays come with a price, you know.   When you work in a school and the snow comes in the middle of the night you go to bed with your fingers crossed.  You can gamble, too.  Should you stay up extra late reading or quilting or watching the late shows?  You stand the chance the weather forcast could be wrong and you'd not receive the 5:30 a.m. phone call telling you "school is cancelled due to weather conditions."  It's a gamble. 

 

    BUT when that 5:30 a.m. call comes you can hang up the phone, punch up the pillow and sink back down with a smile on your face. 

 

     Sooner or later you have to deal with it.  You have to dig out.  I hate this thing.  Hate, hate, hate.  It's my brother's.  We're at his house while he's on a little vacation so we took the opportunity to be closer to work for a week.  The week it snowed. The week we had to use this thing.  It is as heavy as a small tractor.  It's like PUSHING a small tractor.   WHEN it decides to start.  I had issues with it a week ago, ending up stomping my feet, crying, yelling at it and going back into the house slamming the door.   Handy brother-in-law came over and got it going. 
      Then it snowed.  Patient Husband is somewhere in Florida sitting by some pool right now.  I'm here dealing with this...this..."thing."  Don't ask.  I told him to go have some fun in the sun.
      In this neighborhood dealing with the snow means trying to figure out when the street plow is going to come and undo what you just did.  Over and over and over again.  I thought I had this under control yesterday but when I came home from school today the plow had come again!  I couldn't figure out why...the streets were D R Y.  But it found big honkin' monster slush ice chunks to deposit at the end of the driveway.  And I had to fire up this thing once again.  Did it?  Did it fire up?  Heck no.  Another stomping, crying, yelling, slamming session.  This time I went out to the end of the drive and kicked some of those big chunks to Kansas.   "Ok, one more chance, you......"  and after a few pulls of the cord it started. It didn't want to.  I could see it thinking it was going to have the last word.
     But that honor goes to the pinched nerve in my back, which I've been babying for a week, IT is letting me know who's going to be boss for awhile.
      I HATE that machine.  Hate it!