I awoke Sunday morning to more snow than I've ever seen in my life. In 1996, we had a snowstorm that dumped about 17 inches and another one in 2003, but this was at least 22 inches, which I say I am allowed to call "2 feet" even if it is an inch or two shy. Needless to say, our cars were hardly visible under the mess, not to mention the driveway, the sidewalks,and, well, everything else. While Harper was beside herself with joy, I found myself in despair again: how would I dig us out? I blew out a disc in my lower back while shoveling out the car in the '96 storm, and I couldn't risk doing it again. David is forbidden to exert himself in any way, and certainly not in below freezing temperatures. I prayed that some enterprising kid would come along and offer to do it for only 22 bucks - the amount of cash on hand that David and I had between us.
And indeed one did. But before he showed up, I looked out my kitchen window, and there were my next door neighbors, shoveling the walks, the driveway, and clearing off both our cars. I shouted out the window that I sure as hell hoped they liked pecan pie, because I was making them one right then. They refused the pie, so I gave my 22 bucks to the neighborhood kid and had him help them out. Before we leave for Tennessee, I will leave a six-pack of some yummy microbrew on their doorstep. If they refuse that, I'll just have to egg their house.
