Shovel me a River

Child shovelling in snow in Ottawa, circa 1905.
Child Shovelling Snow in Ottawa, Canada (1905) from Archives of Ontario via Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Child_Shovelling_Snow_Ottawa_1905.jpg

Inspired by this post by Karyn at Miss Understood about adult children living at home, I wanted to share an experience as a young adult who has “re-nested” back into her parents’ home after a few years of pretending to be an adult.

Monday, the snow was beginning to melt. Over breakfast, I asked my mom (who was on her way to work) “Ma, do you need me to shovel the driveway today?”
“Naa,” she said, “It’s melting, anyway.”

Later in the day, while I was in the middle of something else, Dad calls up from downstairs (because the primary way we communicate in this family is yelling from room to room across the house.)
“Hey, want to shovel the snow? It’s starting to melt and I’m afraid it’s going to refreeze into a sheet of ice tonight.”

I sighed. Then hollered back, “No, Dad. Mommy said I didn’t have to.”
(Then I realized how dumb that sounded.)

“Well, I’ll come out and help you!” Dad called back.

Now this statement from my recently-retired father was alarm inducing! I raced downstairs to grab my boots and gloves.

“No, Dad! Under no circumstances are you allowed to shovel snow.” I stated as I pulled on my snowboots. “I will not be responsible for you keeling over or any other adverse cardiac events. I will go shovel the driveway.”

So headed outside (by myself) with a shovel, intending to do battle with the driveway. At this point, there really wasn’t a whole lot of snow left. It was mostly a layer of slush and water, that was surprisingly resistant to being scraped off the cement. Most uncomfortably, my normally water-resistant snow boots were start to uncomfortably leak from the puddle of slush I was standing in.

I ran inside to switch out snow boots for dry socks and rubber boots. I persevered with my scraping, and managed to improve the flow of meltwater to the storm drainage along the curb. Removing the layer of slush also helped with evaporation of some of the puddles that were resistant to draining.

At some point, I realized I kind of liked the physical exercise and the repetitive (meditative?) nature of shoveling the snow. I was very proud of myself when I was done.

“Ta da!” I said, coming back into the house. “Your driveway is shoveled!”

I guess that’s why they keep me around.

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2 thoughts on “Shovel me a River

  1. Thank you for the link! That’s was blogger-considerate of you. I laughed at the mention of “yelling from room to room across the house”, we use our cell-phones to either call or text (depending) and we mock our-lazy-selves for doing it (but it beats yelling). And good point about the exercise and meditation…that’s how I probably keep from hating shoveling.

    Liked by 1 person

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