shove snow.

My fingers are shaking.  My arms are slumped against the back of the couch and my back has given up on straight.  What terrible thing just happened that has sent my entire body into shock?

Winter.

Apparently I am a very skilled snow dancer.  Because not only did it snow last night, it continued on into the morning, the day, the evening.  All day long the largest, fluffiest, prettiest flakes of snow fell down, down, down.

Down.  Onto my driveway.

I am leaving in three days.  Two and a half really.  This is what I am thinking in my head.  Two and a half days.  Can't I plow through the driveway for two and a half more days?  Sure, I almost ended up in the middle of the yard this morning, but it is only two more days.  And a half.

And, this is why I have snow tires.  Right?

But then I remember the doughnut that I had this morning.  The one with the bavarian creme filling and the sprinkles on top.  And besides.  The Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel is a rerun.  I'll just go out there and blaze a little trail.  Burn a few calories.  I'll even put some Christmas music on.  It'll be fun.  Festive.

This year I opted for the shovel.  There are quite a few perks to the shovel really.  You can go at your own speed.  You can go any direction you like. And it doesn't ram into you when you accidentally knock it into reverse.  Or run over your toes when you are trying to turn it around.  The shovel is peaceful, compliant.

So I get out there.  In my cute red snow pants and matching hat.  And I am delighted to see that my hair has just the right amount of curl to it.  Maybe I'll impress that cute neighbor boy across the street.

The first thing you should do when shoveling is to figure out a strategy.  A plan.  Are you going to push or lift.  Go to the side or straight ahead.  How full will you fill your shovel.  Where will you toss the snow.  And how loud does your music need to be in order to be heard over the scraping and grating.

Half way into it I lose my hat.  My hair is a frozen, stiff mass.  And there is snow down my red pants.  I no longer care about cute.  I no longer care about music.  I no longer care about calories.  It's come down to this: I am going to win.  I am going to make it to the end of my driveway.  Because I am independent.  Because I am a single, self sufficient girl and because I can handle a little snow.

By now I'm down to my tank top.  My nose is dripping.  My arms are aching.  I'm begging Jesus to come.  And that's when I look down and see that I am still wearing my pearls.  I let out a hysterical giggle.  And I madly attack the driveway.  Those hours on the treadmill were not for swim suit season.  No.  Swim suit season has nothing on Shoveling Season.  Not a thing.

I am sure that that there is some lesson to be found in this.  Some moral or Gospel truth about perseverance or planning or being properly equipped.  But I do not feel like being godly and spiritual right now.

This is what I have taken away from my driveway.  Number one, doughnuts are never worth it.  Number two,  beware the power of the snow dance.  And number three.  Do not listen to the weather report forecasting 3-4 more inches after you have nearly lost yourself to the driveway.  And if you do, promptly follow it with a glass of wine and a long, long bubble bath.