[stylist] Snow Shovelin' Blues - prompt response

[Brad Dunsé]

I've felt your pain. Nicely done.

Brad




On 2/3/2012  09:16 AM Chris Kuell said...
>
>Snow Shovelin' Blues
>
>
>
>".So be careful, folks-it's a mess out there."
>
>
>
>I shut off the clock radio and threw on some 
>clothes. Great. Last night they predicted one to 
>three inches, and this morning we've got eight. 
>After pouring a bran muffin and half a pot of 
>hot coffee down my gullet, I found my hat and 
>gloves and stepped out into the crisp morning air.
>
>
>
>I breathed deep, enjoying the cold burn in my 
>lungs. The world was beautifully crystalline 
>white, and now it was time to carve a path through it.
>
>
>
>My trusty snow shovel was right where I'd left 
>it--behind the Adirondack chair I meant to put 
>in the garage last fall. I whistled, Joy to the 
>World and cleared the porch and front steps. I 
>was building up some heat, so I unzipped my 
>jacket about six inches and worked on the path 
>to the driveway. The air temperature must have 
>been above freezing, because the snow was dense 
>and heavy. Real heavy. Every few minutes I had 
>to pause, stretch the kinks out of my back and 
>take some deep breaths. Shoveling is hard work, 
>but I really enjoy the cardiovascular  exercise. 
>Feels good to use the old muscles.
>
>
>
>Fifteen minutes later, I'd cleared about a dozen 
>feet and had maybe twenty more to go. My muscles 
>were starting to complain a little, saying they 
>preferred to just rest on a wrist pad and 
>exercise by striking the keyboard. But, I kept 
>going. Finding the right angle, push forward a 
>foot and a half, then heave the shovelful over 
>to the side of the driveway. Release was 
>critical, as you didn't want to fall short and 
>toss the load back onto the driveway, or waste 
>energy by tossing the twenty-five pounds of 
>frozen fun into your neighbor's front yard. 
>After five more feet, my heart was beating 
>faster than a bunch of ex-girlfriends at Tiger 
>Wood's back door. Time for a new strategy.
>
>
>
>I tried the snow plow method, holding the handle 
>of the shovel with both hands out in front of me 
>and running like I was the snowplow. It worked 
>great for about three feet, then the shovel 
>stopped but my body kept going. The handle of 
>the shovel jammed into my crotch, I sang soprano 
>for a few seconds and had to take a five minute break.
>
>
>
>Blade down, push, lift and throw. Blade down, 
>push, lift and throw. I wonder who invented the 
>snow shovel? Ingenuitive as it is, it had to be 
>a New Englander. Probably some poor sap who had 
>a boss who didn't want to get her pretty boots 
>wet. Maybe he tried various techniques before 
>coming up with a spade, which could be 
>redesigned for the job. But, why twenty inches 
>wide? All snow shovels are twenty inches-not 
>sixteen or eighteen or twenty-one. But twenty on 
>the nose. And the handle at the top, that little 
>addition was pure genius. Blade down, push, lift and throw.
>
>
>
>I kept listening for the road is it slowly 
>approached. Ten more feet. Eight feet. Five 
>feet. I was stopping to breathe and ram my fists 
>into my lower back to ease the discomfort about 
>every two minutes now. I wonder how much snow 
>blowers cost? Probably a mint at this time of 
>year. Blade down, push, lift, groan  and throw.
>
>
>
>The end of the driveway was as bad as I'd 
>feared. Instead of eight inches of heavy, wet 
>snow, I faced a mountain of maybe twenty-four 
>inches of hard-packed misery. I stretched my 
>back again, voiced a few silent curses at the 
>snow plow for leaving me this undesired chunk of 
>winter, and went to work. I chopped and hacked 
>and beat and shoved and cried my way through 
>that unforgiving glacier as my tight hamstrings, 
>shoulders  and lower back threatened to stop 
>functioning if I didn't cease and desist this 
>activity ASAP. But, finally I finished. The 
>corners could have been done better, but after 
>an hour and a half of shoveling I couldn't move 
>one more spoonful.  As I dragged my tired body 
>towards the walkway, Molly-the-Mail-carrier 
>stomped her way across my neighbor's yard toward me.
>
>"Morning," she said, voice crisp from the cold. 
>"You feeling okay? You're bent over like my 
>grandmother when she's carrying a bag of cement."
>
>
>
>"I'm fine," I told her. "Back's a little sore from this damn snow."
>
>
>
>"Ever consider massage therapy ?" she said. 
>"Lugging this heavy sack of catalogues through 
>this stuff isn't any picnic, either. My guy Hans 
>is a God-send. He'll get your muscles singing a happier tune in no time."
>
>
>
>The thought of a guy named Hans rubbing my 
>muscles didn't exactly light my fire. "He 
>wouldn't have a sister named Gretel in the business, would he?"
>
>
>
>An ugly, metallic groan cut the morning 
>stillness about a block away. We both turned at 
>the dreadful sound. Big and heavy, a powerful 
>diesel engine roared like a T Rex through the 
>quiet of the neighborhood. It pushed half-a-ton 
>of cold, steel blade as it plowed through Mother Nature's mess.
>
>
>
>"No!" I shouted, waving my arms frantically. "No! Please! No-o-o!"
>
>
>
>- chriskuell
>
>
>_______________________________________________
>Writers Division web site:
>http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
>stylist mailing list
>stylist at nfbnet.org
>http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
>http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/lists%40braddunsemusic.com


Brad Dunsé

"The key to change is to let go of fear." --Roseanne Cash

http://www.braddunsemusic.com

http://www.facebook.com/braddunse

http://www.twitter.com/braddunse