We had a huge, nasty, disgusting, and unrepentant inundation of snow on Thursday. It was a detestable turn-of-events. I wrote last week of the severe cold that had been visited upon us in unwarranted fashion, and with the chill I knew that it would only end with a snowfall as temperatures climbed. And that is exactly what happened.
Snow, if you didn’t know, is God’s way of saying: “You’re all hopeless and vile and I’m going to screw you up so you can’t do anything other than risk a coronary by trying to get rid of what I threw at you. And, when you do get that driveway cleared I am going to see that two things happen: One, the triple-overtime earning snowplow drivers are going to fill up the entrance to your drive and walkway with dirty, nasty ‘street’ snow that is all hard and icy and filled with pebbles and possibly used condoms and hypodermic syringes. Secondly, once that’s done, I’m going to make it snow again.”
“Oh, and don’t trust those bonehead forecasters,” God adds. “They all work for me and that is why they are 100% wrong all the time, yet never get fired. So, I had to laugh when you actually bit on that few flurries bit; you know, the crap the forecasters handed you that led you to believe that maybe you’d get out the next day and do some Christmas shopping (as if. This is me, Mr. Dec. 23rd you’re talking about); maybe look for a tree, and get all Christmas spirity. Well, screw you. You’ve messed with me too much lately, and you don’t deserve any breaks.”
At least, that’s how I see the origins of the end of week ghastliness.
We got, I think I heard, about 10 centimetres. That translates to, in ‘real’ measurements, like the kind I grew up with, hence understand, about 17-feet – or so it seems.
The good thing for me is that I didn’t need to go anywhere. The bad thing for me was that Wendy did – like to work. Fortunately she drives a 4WD so it wasn’t a mammoth source of concern. But, that left me with the doubly bad thing, and that was shovelling out the driveway prior to her return. I mean, I could have left it and struggled with the guilt of looking like a slug and wastrel, or I could have turned myself to the task. I chose the latter, with visions of the number of dutiful morons like myself who succumb to coronaries while being obliging husbands. Being attuned to possible telltale chest pains I turned myself to the task. And I succeeded and didn’t die – yet.
I was happy I didn’t have to go out because my car isn’t entirely equipped for snow. In the first place it’s a low-to-the-road sport car that is just perfect for summer streets, and not so much for slush and snow. It’s not terrible, but if I can avoid taking to the streets, I do. Otherwise, I might end up like my blogger friend Pinklea, who recently told of her woes with the snows. Check out her posting ‘Stuck’ rather than having me elaborate on the situation.
You see, my car is equipped with all-seasons and I refuse to do the winter tires thing. Much of the world that gets snow has never heard of snow-tires and that suits me. Despite protestations from our dictatorial provincial vehicle insurer (the only game in town) that we all must have snow tires, I don’t buy their argument. If you are sliding towards rear-ending the vehicle in front, snow tires won’t make an iota of difference. All that slide means is that you were driving badly.
And that’s the big issue around here when it snows. Nobody is very used to it, and many, many people drive badly, which means too fast for conditions.
For years and years all-seasons were just dandy, and I’ve always found them good, and haven’t been stuck in ages. Suddenly the cry has gone up that everyone must get snow tires. Hmm, I see tire company collusion in this.
In the meantime, I’ll just bide my time and wait for spring. It will come again, won’t it?