“It’s plowable,” was overheard as I sat near the counter of my breakfast spot.
“Yeah, it is,” I thought to myself as I waited for scrambled & bacon; I’ve cut back on toast but nibbled the edges before Ellie got the remainder after I returned home. I skip homefries now, too. I love them like I love cake, but carbs are carbs, and I don’t need extra.
The initial coating of snow increased by about an inch-and-a-half during the hour of nourishment, and I cleared off the Toyota again.
Always clear away snow somewhere other than your own driveway. I had that conversation with my Dad many times before he passed.
He loved clearing off the car, even after he was no longer allowed to drive after his stroke—frankly, I think that’s what sucked the life out of him faster than other debilitations, but that’s a song for another time.
“Dad, I’ll clear off your car. Stay inside. I don’t need to find you on the ground when I plow later.”
“Oh, I’m not going to fall. I’m like a cat.”
Of course, he did fall many times over the last couple of years of his life, ending up flat on his back in a foot of snow. This caused me much frustration when my Mama would whisper to me that he’d fallen again.
He could have been a better receiver of directions, my Old Man. But what are you gonna do? Scolding your father is one of the most uncomfortable things to do after you grow up, knowing that’s not your place.
It’s a good thing God whispers, “You can suspend that commandment if it’s shared with the intent to help. By the way, TC, I inserted that in the center of the other nine so you could see it in your peripheral vision, even when you weren’t looking directly at it—but I also see your heart, so let him have it.”
That may be how I heard it; there are better translators of the Old Testament, but I’m a bit radical and ask forgiveness for my digressions and transgressions.
The thing about clearing your car off directly in the spot you need to plow is that it makes humps that freeze. Snow, dropped from a few feet, forms into a solid faster than Quik-set concrete, making it hard to plow a patch cleanly.
I like to drive the car over to the lawn with the windshield fully coated and covered with snow. I’m good at it, knowing exactly where I’m going from doing it so many times.
Most Mainers can drive with a snow-covered windshield, navigating by feel—drive around town today, and you’ll find all sorts of people practicing the art of sightless driving.
After parking, I scrape and sweep all that pre-compacted snow somewhere I won’t have to plow later. It’s a thing. Doing so leaves fewer icy spots on the driveway. Those demand salt and sun to remove.
I think of my father every time I clear off a car. Isn’t that the strangest thing? Each time I have a snow brush in my hand, I think of my Dad.
Will it always be like that? Well, I hope so.
Do your plow guy a favor and clear the snow off the car near the driveway’s edge. I won’t fall when I hit the icy spot, but you might. After all, I’m like a cat.
From the snow-covered Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
Unlike public broadcasting, TimCottonWrites does not have an annual membership drive. Many who signed up a year ago have determined—for whatever reason—that they won’t be doing so this coming year. Financial situations change, and I understand that. Who doesn’t, right? Things have been tough for so many.
I am fortunate that many of you have made a choice, even briefly, to support my scribblings. Memberships in The Royal Order of Dooryard Visitors (monthly supporters) drop because it’s year-end. Some choose not to re-up their support. First, I’d like to thank everyone who donates a little or a lot from the bottom of my heart. We run this page and write the daily Facebook posts with your support. This bridges the gap between publishing books and allows me the freedom to write for a portion of my life. How lucky am I (blessed, too) to do this? I am a fortunate son. You all have made it possible.
I have never put my writing behind a paywall. It’s free for everyone to read and will remain so for as long as possible. Thank you for your help, donations, gifts, kind comments, and for buying my books. There will be a new one in spring. “Donut Holes for the Soul” will be here by June. We also plan to have a discount code for those who want to order early. It’ll be announced here for you regular readers. It’s the least we can do.
If you want to join the Royal Order of Dooryard Visitors, you can find the sign-up under the BuyMeACoffee banner on this webpage (it’s yellow; you can’t miss it). You can also make smaller donations—everything helps keep the webpage, webmaster, and wood-fired servers online. Consider it; no matter what you decide, thanks for coming to read the stuff I write. I’d be stacking this stuff in the kindling bin if it were not for all of you.
Thank you. And I mean that.
TC