December 1: Shell-Shocked Fragments, Snowpocalypse, Blizzardy Thanksgiving Weekend

After a fairly shaky start to the day, Arthur's mind was beginning to reassemble itself from the shell-shocked fragments the previous day had left him with . . .

It has been a really long, shell-shocky day for me, as well, and it's only 3:19 in the afternoon.  A second snowpocalypse hit my little area of the Upper Peninsula early this morning, and it's still going strong.  I'm a bad judge of how much snow has fallen, but I would guess about 20 feet.  At least, that's what my back is telling me.

Church services were cancelled early, so I headed out at 7:30 this morning to start shoveling.  I finally came back inside about 11:30, and I still hadn't cleared everything.  Thank God for my neighbor across the street.  He came over with his snowblower and helped clear around the vehicles in my driveway, so I was able to get them moved.

Then, I came inside and collapsed in my bed until I got a text from my plow guy.  Out I went again to move cars and shovel some more.  At one point, my plow guy rolled down his window and said, "This is crazy.  These are January snowbanks.  I'm runnin' out of places to push this shit."  He finished up, and I backed our cars into the driveway with the help of my daughter's boyfriend.

I am currently inside.  My feet are up.  I've taken some Ibuprofen.  And I am officially done with winter.  We have enough snow now for Christmas, New Year's Eve and Day, and the next Winter Olympics.  I have one bed available for any athletes looking for lodging.  I don't care if I step outside again until mid-July.

On top of all of that, I have a houseful of teenagers.  Friends of my daughter who slept here Saturday night.  It looks light they'll be spending tonight here, as well.  One of them is freaking out at the moment because she has chemistry and math tests tomorrow, and she doesn't have her books to study.  She literally wants to risk her life to try to get home right now.  (She lives about 20 miles out of town in a very rural area.)  My daughter came down and asked me when the storm was supposed to stop.  The National Weather Service's Winter Storm Warning for our area is set to expire at 4 p.m.  In about 15 minutes.  I looked at my daughter and said, "Just because the storm stops doesn't mean it's safe to drive on the roads."  She rolled her eyes, spun on her heals, and tossed an "Okay!" over her shoulder at me as she stomped up to her room.

I feel bad for my daughter's friend.  I understand her panic and fear because, as a student, I was very much like her.  Fear of failure is overpowering.  It's what keeps me moving most days.  I don't want to be a disappointment to anybody.  It's why I drag myself out of bed at 4:15 every weekday.  Why I work four different jobs.  Why I get about four to five hours of sleep a night.  And why I've been up since 7:30 this morning, pushing snow and juggling cars.  I have a family to take care of.  Obligations to fulfill.  And, even though my daughter doesn't see it right now, I'm trying to keep these hormonal teenagers safe.

I'm not complaining.  I like taking care of people, being dependable.  That's why, after I'm done typing this post, I'm going to go into the kitchen and cook some food for my household.  Starting with a spinach and artichoke bomb.  Then some blueberry pancakes probably, because it's a blueberry pancake kind of night.

So, at the end of this blizzardy Thanksgiving weekend, I am grateful for my neighbor who came over with his snowblower this morning to help me out.  For my plow guy, who moved a mountain of snow for me.  For my eleven-year-old son, who moved an eleven-year-old-size mountain of snow, as well.  For my warm house, and my refrigerator full of food.  For my wife, who let me take a nap this afternoon.  For my Christmas tree glowing in the corner of the living, reminding me that there's light in the world.

Saint Marty is sore and blessed.