Well, we finally got it! And maybe then some. At 5 p.m., right now, it is still snowing. I plowed all our roads once around 1 o’clock thinking that maybe the weather folks might have an inside track. Everything got filled right back up and I’m not really sure when it will stop. What I do think I know from weather forecasters is that it will be 50F with rain on Wednesday! Won’t that be fun?

One of the most annoying adventures of winter is the process of clothing oneself when about to launch out onto the frozen tundra.  I don’t mean go out and get in a car or truck, I mean when it’s time to shovel, snow blow or clear the vehicles. It’s a process. Let me explain.

First and foremost are the feet and hands. Enter a pair of merino wool socks that extend to just below my knees. I’m not sure that’s how far they should go, but that’s how far mine go. They are very warm and they fit inside my Wolverine boots just fine. But it takes an act of Congress to accomplish this task as some of my body parts are reluctant to accommodate the necessary contortions required for proper fitting.  I have a very refined procedure for said project which involves proper leaning on furniture and other home furnishings. Eventually it happens.

But I am getting ahead of myself. The boots go on after pulling on my Carhartt coveralls over pants and trying to determine if the straps are straight, which they seldom are. If my wife is not present to guide this process it could mean a tangled mess. Then comes on with my hooded sweatshirt and something we call a “neck-tector” which wraps around my neck for warmth. Finally the Carhartt jacket. Almost last, but not least, gloves or mittens, depending upon the chores ahead, and headgear to protect old baldy!

When plowing with my dear Kubota tractor I need to dress really warm because there is no heated or protective cab. When plowing in heavy snowfall this can be quite interesting because I’m just sitting there, out in it all. So things have to stay warm without much movement, unless I get stuck. That’s another story.

Once, after a fairly rigorous afternoon of shoveling, I realized that I should stop in at the Hannaford to pick up some supplies. A fairly simple task with little need for concern. However, when I hit the heated entrance at Hannaford I had a sudden reminder of where all that coffee I had been drinking was being stored. Panic hit! Emergency bells and whistles went off in my head and other places, causing me to make straight for the store’s restroom. But, not so fast. An old friend spotted me in my winter garb and wanted to chat. My back teeth were floating, but I tried to be cordial. I think she detected my lack of mobility, and asked how my knee surgery had gone. “You don’t seem to be moving very well,” she commented. I was paralyzed and concerned for the welfare of the community!  

Finally I made it to the restroom just in time to realize that someone just prior to my arrival had eaten something very disagreeable in a recent meal. I’m talking “Lethal Weapon 3” and there was no cover. However, that may very well have been the least of my problems. I had to find the coffee relief valve through three layers of clothing after a long day in the cold! I was struggling to unravel when the person who delivered the bad meal popped out of the enclosed toilet area behind me. Gasping for air I offered salutations as I struggled with my outfit. I believe he sensed my misery and left quickly!  

Suffice it to say that “self checkout” took on new meaning for me.