So... once again, it's been a week or so since I posted. And a week or so since I did a journal page. Oh well. I've been busy. Although I know plenty of people who run a household and kids, cook all their own food and bread and stuff, and have time to scrapbook and blog. I'm just not there yet.
I'm one who runs on routine. If I don't have one, I don't do well. Well, I'm ok, but things I know I can do don't get done regularly.
That's all fine and dandy, but you may still be wondering about my post title.
It can be one of two things: 1) I live in a snowglobe and it's white everywhere, snowing quite a bit, or 2) I just got stuck in a snow drift and had to dig myself out.
How 'bout both.
I KNOW it is supposed to snow all day, and has been snowing ALL last night... but we don't really have anything to eat. Cupboards are kinda empty. Save for spices and lunch meat. And eating lunch meat twice a day isn't much fun. Although technically that counts as food and we should be grateful that we have that, when others don't have anything. And are outside in this snowglobe.
Anyways, we need things like milk and cereal and bread and some other basic things that I could have purchased yesterday, as it wasn't snowing then. But really, how could I have known that? (The Weather Channel for starters, maybe?) So I figured, I'd better go out now, before it gets worse, as we could get 6-11 inches (!) by tonite. Well.. that was a mistake.
It took me 20 minutes to scrape the snow layer and then ice layer off of my car, while standing in the knee-high drifts that surrounded my vehicle. And I didn't have a hat. I was on my way to buy one at the store right next to the grocery store. (While I'm out, right? Make the best of the trip out in the cold.) So, I carefully ease my way into out of the parking lot and on the street. This isn't so bad. I'll just go slow. Then I come to the stop sign. Nice and easy. No sudden movements now. (I see a pile at the intersection, thinking nothing of it. Anyways, the last thing I want to do is gun it through a stop sign and into the intersection, possibly finding an oncoming car or going too fast and not be able to make the turn. And... the last time I gunned it through a large obstacle that seemed easy enough to get through, I drowned my car in a knee-high puddle.)
So.
I get stuck. A block from my home. And not even in a ditch.
Um.. help?
Pete's at work, he's no use.
Mom and Dad might be at home... maybe they have an idea.
So, parents to the rescue. They remind me I should have a shovel in my emergency bag in the trunk.
(Oh yeah!)
And they'll get bundled and come help.
Dig dig dig.
Plop. (The shovel fell apart.)
Dig dig dig.
Rip. (My pants ripped...they are very old and very worn.)
(Great.)
Thank goodness I have hiking boots and not tennis shoes on.
I try getting through it again.
No luck.
An older guy runs by. Totally engrossed in his workout.
I wave.
There he goes. Not even a glance.
I might start to cry soon.
Then a van drives up, a guy hops out (coat-less) and tells me to put it in neutral. He'll push.
No such luck.
Another guy runs out (from an apartment? his car? I have no idea) with a coat and sweatpants (which are really not that warm when it's windy and snowy) and says to put it in reverse, he'll push.
The van-guy says he's going to get a coat, he'll be back.
Sweatpants digs some more and laughs with me when the shovel falls apart (again). He digs behind my tires too, not just in front (like I was doing) and I hop in and throw it in reverse.
A little budge.
He explains that it might work to quickly go between drive and reverse, in an effort to "rock" it out of the snow bank.
I end up getting it out finally... going backwards.
Sweatpants asks if I really needed something that I should continue on with my journey.. I tell him we don't have much to eat. He laughs and says, "Just order a pizza."
I gratefully thank him and don't even watch to see where he ran back to, to take some cookies or bread or something as a thank-you, and keep the car in reverse the 20 seconds back to the driveway.
I pull into my cleared out spot, and call my parents to tell them I'm ok, don't come get me.
Sigh.
Pizza it is. Photo courtesy of this article that I should have read sooner.
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