Yesterday, I sketched out a whole blog post for today, in honor of the snow that was set to fall over night, about how we need some smarty-pants engineer/inventors to figure out how we can ship some of this Great Lakes snow to the west, where they are experiencing drought. We can't even find room for what we already have, much less all that is still coming, and they could use a good soaking for their ground water. There must be a way we could suck it into those tankers that carry milk and gas across the country, and just shoot it out onto their fields. Yes, it would use a lot of gasoline in the process, but the overall environmental benefit would outweigh this, right?
Then this morning, as I took EJ down for the carpool pick-up, and set out to walk Ada, I knew I had to change course. The blog must document this new phase of winter, which came upon me as if a cosmic switched had been flipped, sometime around 8:10 a.m., CST.
The new snow was only 4-6 inches—I can't believe I am saying this now, but that doesn't even phase me at this point—but it was drifting. There were places on our sidewalk with snow 2-3 feet deep, as tall as our dog. For her to get over to the buried grass—I'm assuming there is still grass buried under there—to relieve herself was an absolute joke.
So, there we were, me trying to kick snowdrifts as high as my thighs down so my grandma dog could pass through, old lady dog, who usually adores snow, looking up at me like, "Seriously, what the heck happened last night? This is unacceptable." After much adventure trying to find a patch of land where the snow had drifted away, our dog finally got about to her business. My urging pleas for her to hurry herself up didn't seem to make a difference. I suppose if someone put a foot and half of snow on my toilet, I'd be pretty intentional about my actions, too. That wasn't the only problem, though. Guess who had a sick tummy this morning? That dog has some sort of ESP for when it is best to carefully place a back-breaking straw, I'm telling you.
Here's the picture: wind blowing, snow flying, me stooping down to pick up copious amounts of poorly-formed excrement, scarf almost blowing into the mess, gloves almost being coated in the mess, bag for the pick-up blowing into the mess and becoming its own disgusting remnant, second bag to nest gross bag in almost blowing away, dog's tail swishing almost into the mess roughly twenty times, my big red down coat blowing open and nearly knocking me down into a smelly pile.
Once the clean-up was over, the dog looked like she wanted to stay out and enjoy the snow. Of course she did! I felt the wave of relief that comes when you know the worst must be over. It was around the time that I stumbled over in a different three-foot drift as I attempted to get all the bagged-up gross to the garbage can, nearly losing my boot in the process, that I snapped. I started laughing. Laughing like a maniac. A lunatic. A person whose brain had simply decided, "This s)%* is crazy, you are going on a mental vacation right this second." It made me felt better. It also made me feel a little cuckoo.
Yesterday, there was a hilarious article in Jezebel about how sick of winter we all are. I posted it on my Facebook page for others to enjoy, highlighting one of my favorite quotes, "It's been cold for so long that The Shining is starting to look like a documentary." I thought of that little gem as I burst into my fit of "winter is absurd" laughter this morning, and neighbors attempting to dig out their cars looked over with faces that said, "Keep a wide distance from that lady." This winter, people, is crazy-making.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Run if you hear me whisper "Red Rum." I'm getting coffee now, so I think we'll be okay, but still: safety first.