Midwestern Workout

Scraping, metal on stone, wakes me before I plan to get up.

I’m grateful for the city trucks but the dogs start barking at the unfamiliar noise. I lay there for a couple more hours while the snow accumulates. My day’s plans now include snow shoveling. CBS Sunday morning and coffee are going to have to wait. Ok, maybe not coffee. I feed the dogs and plan my clothing. Pajama top, sure. Pajama pants, no, need to change those. Wool socks, a long coat, utilitarian gloves, and my trusty snow boots. I’m ready for my Midwestern Workout. The dogs eye me from their comfy couch with full tummies.

Order of operations; car clean-off first. At this moment, I’m so grateful I own a fancy, long handled, swiveling brush head, snow brush. A woman in head-to-toe pastels sweeps by on the sidewalk, her cross-country ski tracks in the powder. The only sounds are the scrape of the plows in the distance. I add the Feeling Happy playlist to this scene and zip my phone back into my pocket.

Swoosh, swipe, glide, repeat. I can see the cars again.

Two shoulder surgeries keep my pace at a minimum. The shovel glides easily through the fresh snow. As it gets heavier, I push with my stomach. Swoop, dump, swoop, dump. My progress isn’t pretty, but it’s still progress. I find myself using my foot to kick the shovel empty and I think of my dad. I think I learned that trick from him.

I’m at the end of the driveway and I hear it. A lumbering giant of a plow is heading my way, The sound, like nails on a chalkboard. “Don’t you dare….” I think as the grey wave of snow curls onto our aggregate driveway.