A matter of pride

I have to say, I was a little shocked when, last evening, our local schools called to preemptively announce a snow day today. Not that it affects me in any way, only my eight-year old brother and my mom, who has to keep him entertained for the day, but I still found it ridiculous. At 8am today, the streets were already plowed, no more than a half-foot or so of snow had fallen, and no more was coming down. Jumping the gun? I would say so. It's not like we've never seen snow before.

After breakfast and a hot cup of joe, I suited up and grabbed my shovel to go outside and free the cars from our annoyingly long driveway. Working with my step-dad, the job took no more then half an hour. Though it was, I believe, the fourth time I've had to rescue my driveway from a blanket of white and fluffy in the past month, and though I would never go so far as so to say I enjoy doing it, I decided that shoveling one's driveway really is, and should be a matter of pride.

Unless you are over a certain age, which in my opinion should be about when you start receiving social security checks, or have a certified physical ailment that prevents you from doing so, you should be outside shoveling your own driveway every time it snows. I don't care how rich and how lazy you are. If you are physically cable of picking up a shovel and pushing, hauling, lifting, or by any means removing the snow from your premises, you should. In fact, you must. There are lots of people out there who physically cannot do so but also probably cannot afford to pay for it to be done for them. But the much-needed services of the snow removal professionals are often reserved only for the wealthy and lazy. So you have a two-mile-long driveway? Tough. No one forced you to live on your own private street. If you were rich enough to buy said property, you can probably afford a day off to shovel it yourself.

On a less serious note, I took full advantage of the last day before the new snowfall yesterday by putting in five hours on the still-clear roads. It was a little on the chilly side, never quite cracking 30 degrees, but it easily could have been much worse. The obligatory pancakes ensued, though not until 3:30 in the afternoon. When lunch is that late, and you've been on the road since 10am, I think it's a sign that you've been riding long enough. My appetite not yet satisfied, I journeyed off to the supermarket to pick up provisions for dinner. On last nights menu: oven-roasted chicken and carrots in a garlicky sauce of roasted cherry tomatoes and chicken jus, served with a side of beer-braised broccoli and all on a bed of linguini.

Until next time,
A proud driveway shoveler.