A Great Snow Job
I love when it snows, if only because it gives me yet another opportunity to show off my home-owning prowess.
All up and down my street, you can hear the constant scraping of shovels against cement and asphalt. You can see the red noses, the red ears…the steam from their breath as it billows into the icy air. Such hard workers they are. What proud, caring home owners. How can I – a mere journalist — compete?
My beloved wife and I don’t live in the country, and the suburban driveways attached to our home could hardly be described as being long. Still, it seems to take most of the neighbors a half hour or more to complete the job longer if they do the responsible neighbor thing and shovel off the sidewalk, too.
In our house, whenever it snows, there is an unspoken communication between the wife and myself. While the snow is falling, I am in the clear. It is a winter wonderland during those moments. During those times I proudly unfurl our drapes so we can take in the serenity of it all. Eventually, however, the snow stops and the uncertainty begins. Will I shovel the driveway? And if so, when will I do it?
As most Luminary readers can tell, innovation lies at the heart of everything we do at Senator Publishing. We don’t use typewriters (which came as a shock to the gentleman who tried to unload a bunch of IBM Selectrics on me when we first started publishing), we use computers. We don’t use film, we use digital images. We don’t go to press, we send pages to an e-mail address and the paper magically appears, printed on real paper the next morning. So it naturally occurred to me that I could apply such innovative thinking to the dilemma of crystallized ice particles covering my driveway.
When it becomes time for a man to marry, they are often dragged into sessions where they are told to pick out china patterns or glass designs or candle colors or whatever the heck I was supposed to have paid attention to during my engagement. We received some wonderful presents at our showers and from our registry and if I ever decide to start a platter concession, I will no doubt be among the industry leaders. Still, the only present I really cared about, in fact, one of my most prized possessions in all the world is my leaf blower. Such is my love for my leaf blower, in fact, that during the latest dusting, I decided to deal it back into the equation.
Let the others shovel and scrape…let them wheeze and freeze. And let them all turn in wide eyed wonder toward the sound of my 69 decibels of snow pounding fury. It’s powder that is covering my driveway, and it is no match for the 225 mph gale force winds that are being expelled from the device at my right hip. They stand, awestruck, as they watch me make my triumphant advance to the street, abolishing every form of precipitation that stands in my way.
Two minutes later, the only sign of my having been in the vicinity is the cloud of salt that is seen flying out of the only open garage door. The purpose of doing so is twofold — not only am I providing splendid after care for my driveway (stray dustings of snow will find no quarter in my abode) it also serves as a metaphor to those that witnessed my unimpeded march of snow free glory.
It is the salt in their wounds.