01.07.15 This is the third day we are unable to leave home; the record snowfall has left our road impassable. A neighbor who regularly plows us out called to say his truck blew up and he wouldn’t be able to fix it until Spring. The back-up plow service reported that their equipment was down, and we spent half of yesterday calling everyone we know in town who might know someone who could get us dug out. With a headlamp in the dark last night, Don trudged up the hill on snowshoes to meet a man who agreed to survey our road and see if his equipment could handle it. He’s supposed to arrive this morning when it gets light. Our fingers are crossed.
Oh how easy it is to lose one’s perspective at times like this! Day one is “oh, a snow day!” and I spent the afternoon doing a watercolor painting of the snow-covered pines outside the windows. But yesterday, with fears that we might be stuck for several more days, was a different story. Don, convinced his career as a ski racer is over because he can’t get to the trails, talked about moving to California in the winters to focus on bike racing instead. A raccoon has been in the garage and the kitties are down to one more day of food, and every time I saw them on the porch, I went out to pet them and reassure them they will survive.
We’ve given ourselves permission to spend more time reading. Sitting by the fire, we are both deep in haunting novels; the kind in which I have to get up and walk around because my heart is beating so fast. I look out the windows into the black night, shuddering at the story I am reading, reminding myself it is just a book. I go check the computer, again, and see that my California son-in-law has responded to my photo of being snowbound, and he reminds me that there’s still a bag of Chicago Mix popcorn and caramel we didn’t finish in our cupboard, and surely, there must be more bubbles in the downstairs refrigerator. Saved!
Now, this morning, the Chicago Mix is gone and the bubbles are finished. Let’s hope the plow shows up.