Yet another Blizzard has walloped Boston. I have reconciled myself to the new reality: I live in ski country. To say we are snowed in is an understatement. We are several snowstorms past too much snow. A hard, bad winter’s worth of snow in the stretch of twenty five days or so. I cannot even think of trying to dig out because of the howling winds. I haven’t had a full week of work in three weeks. That’s not necessarily a bad thing but the work is starting to pile up in drifts and eddys like the snow. I only braved going outside to shovel clear a sheltered spot to put down some bird seed for my avian friends. We have lots of food and coffee. Tons of books. The only foreseeable problem is the power going out. We have candles and some little cans of sterno if that happens. How many brownie can a person eat?
The thought of digging out, yet again, is daunting. The constant struggle against winter takes a psychological toll. Snow shoveling can do that. Winter has no respect for man or woman. It reduces you to the level of a shoveling brute. Worse than an animal, because animals don’t shovel.
One of our neighbor snapped after the last snow storm. We were out shoveling when we noticed him walking down the middle of the unplowed street, cup of coffee in his hand, laughing and talking to himself, wearing only pajamas and slippers. His wife told us he woke up that morning, looked outside, realized he had to shovel yet again. He started laughing uncontrollably. The thought of yet again putting in a couple hours of back-breaking manual labor broke him.
Another neighbor burrowed through the snow banks until he could crawl under his back porch. He tried to hibernate away the winter curled up in the leaves and dirt. Emergency services took him away.
It’s only a matter of time before we all break. We have to watch out for each other. Wach for the signs.
I think I will go make some French toast.
copyright 2015 Magnus Incognito