Woke up this morning and peeked out the window. Over a foot of snow had fallen overnight and the roads were messy. That meant we wouldn’t be traveling anywhere today. Yay! I would wrap, decorate, do my Christmas cards, even write, read and relax. I had plenty of plans.
What I’d forgotten about (and was soon reminded of) was that snow also meant shoveling.
My husband always does the driveway and walkways after a storm, and on weekdays when I’m at my day job, he does everything else (including snowblowing parts of the lawn when he gets carried away). Unfortunately, this wasn’t a weekday, so I had to bear some of the burden and shovel the snow off our rather large deck.
When I walked onto the deck, snow up to my knees, I began muttering under my breath about how much I couldn’t stand this weather and how I wanted to move south. I’ve lived here all my life and don’t ski. I’ve never been on a snowmobile. Snow is heavy, wet and cold and I don’t have a use for it.
After only a few minutes of shoveling, I stopped complaining. It was chilly out, but I was dressed for the occasion–boots, mittens, winter coat and hat. The cool air felt invigorating. The upper body workout was actually enjoyable. This wasn’t so bad after all. To my surprise, I was happy to be doing this.
Fast forward 5 hours later….
Decorating, wrapping, and Christmas cards all remain undone. My muscles ache from shoveling and I know tomorrow they’ll feel worse. Haven’t done any reading or writing yet either (except for this blog post). It’s dark outside and the day’s almost done.
Darn (pretty) snow!