Like we could stop it, right?

Since I wrote the last post, several hours have passed.  The snow has only let up enough so that I can sort of make out the park house across the street.  It's still pouring down.  Fortunately, it's the light fluffy kind, not Heart Attack snow.

Unfortunately today is the day our snow thrower decided the only thing it would throw is a hissy fit.

My job, when the weather is like this, is to get the snow off the dining and tv room roofs, which are prone to ice dams.  So, I raked them off (that was three hours ago.  There's four new inches of snow up there.  I'll do it again tonight.) and then, noticing that there was already ice, I got out the ladder and found the ice pick.  All this time, Jay was trying to get the blower started. 

It just kept saying "No.  Not today.  Try again later.  No."

So I pulled out the extension ladder and went to the roof to chop off the ice and the ladder fell apart.

It's almost like we're not supposed to fight this snow.

I put the ladder back together and got up to the roof. The salt I'd spread last time did it's job; the ice was porous and easy to remove.  There was a lot of it, though.  I worked until my fingers and toes were numb.  It's not that cold out yet, still above 20 degrees but the wind was swirly and I felt like my face was being sandblasted by an ice mist.

Because it was.  Now, I'm chapped raw and red. 

While I was in the back corner chopping off ice dams, Jay had given up on the snow blower and started digging out the driveway, so he could take the van out and get a new snow blower.

Our driveway is three miles long with the house on one side and a privacy fence on the other and there's no where to put the snow. 

Doing this by hand is like removing your own gall bladder with your kitchen utensils.  Or knitting yourself a tank.

But you know what?  We're Minnesotans.  We don't let a little (or a lot.  A ton.) of FRIKKIN' SNOW stop us from doing what needs to be done.  We dug out the driveway the best we could, we dug out the glacier the plow left at the end of the driveway and Jay braved the roads to see about getting us a new machine.

Now my arms are so sore I can barely lift them. 

Which means I have the perfect excuse not to try to get any work done today.  Can't paint if I can't lift my arms, right?

I guess I'll start addressing Christmas cards.  If my hands don't shake.

Maybe I'll just watch Lonesome Dove.

 

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