It's Snow Problem, really

Over the weekend the Mid-Atlantic/East-Coast region had a snowstorm. You should know that already if you own a TV, have the Internet or read a newspaper. Washington DC got some disgusting amount of snow that totaled in feet and sent the capital to its knees begging for mercy — but not before they cleared stores out of milk and bread. The President was calling it "Snowmageddon". At our lakeside hamlet we got about 3 inches. Which isn't bad when compared to 3 feet, right? Ah, ignorance! It is bliss.

On Friday night Mother Nature brought the pain. David was an hour late coming home because he decided to buy a copy of Turbo Tax. He did not call me and inform me of his little detour. Naturally, I figured he was dead in a ditch because every time I looked out the window it became increasingly difficult to see across the street. The snow plows couldn't come out and play because visibility was so bad and the wind just kept blowing more snow onto the streets they did plow. The snow drifts were the height of a small child. David, however, did make it home and we had a wonderful time staying up until 1 AM doing our first tax return as a married couple. A time spent wondering just where exactly is our money going when we pay the Regional Income Tax Authority (RITA) hundreds of dollars? RITA's motto is "Collecting Taxes that Benefit your Community in a Variety of Ways". Really, RITA, then can you explain why we don't have sidewalks or more than a handful of police officers? I've never been a pitchfork-wielding, answer-demanding citizen, but if I don't see some of the basic components of a town sprouting up around me soon I am going to get a pitchfork, a straw hat, some overalls and some answers.



Saturday dawned and I peeked out the window. The neighbors had about a foot of snow piled in front of their door. I couldn't open our front door much more than an inch. The back door opened just fine. Our narrow residential side street hadn't been plowed, but other than that didn't look too bad. Our driveway was relatively free of snow. The newspaper confirmed my observations that our county didn't get hit that hard. We decided to order Chinese food for pick-up. I dressed and went out to check the mail. As I hit the end of the driveway I sank almost to my knees in snow. "Hmmm, that's not optimal", I thought, "We don't have any shovels or anything. But we have the car! Certainly, the heavy car can get over this!"

David got stuck in the street barely out of the driveway. I watched him from the safety of the house. I tried to convince him to get the car back in the driveway and we could cancel our order. I watched a neighbor help get him unstuck (didn't take very long) and when I went back to the window he was gone. "Damn him, that stubborn...I told him to come back!" I started to panic, thinking, "I should have gone with him. That way if something happens at least we'll be together. Not that I'm any good in a snow emergency. If something happens to him or the car while he is out getting Shrimp Fried Rice for me I'll die of guilt." I, Samina, lapsed Catholic, did the only default maneuver I knew: get a rosary and start praying.

Not ten minutes after our car disappeared down the street the snow plow came by. The street is now navigable and, thank God, David wasn't blocking the street! As I am rejoicing, I notice there is now a wall of snow blocking the driveway. Shit! There is no way David can get enough acceleration to get over that wall. I debate borrowing a shovel or going across the street and asking the neighbors to shovel the drive — they have offered before. Just then a kid walks down the street, shovel over his shoulder and thermos in his other hand. I pull on my boots and run out the door after him screaming, "Excuse me! Excuse me! You there with the shovel and red hat!" (What is this a Dickens novel? Good Lord.) Finally, he turns around and I ask him to shovel the drive for a few bucks. I see the neighbor who helped David get unstuck and I thank her. I tell them both we are from California: always seems to be the best explanation.

Normally, I don't employ the snow-shoveling youth who wander the streets looking to make some extra cash. They are like stray cats. You feed one then next week you have a whole litter of them begging at the back door. Plus, I've heard stories of people being robbed while the shoveling is happening or later in the day the shovel-ers come back to see what else you might have. Paranoia, I know, but better safe than sorry.

I call David and tell him someone is shoveling the drive so he can pull back in. The oddest thing happens as I am chatting with the kid. The street comes alive. Suddenly, everyone is pulling out of their shoveled drives and heading out on the freshly plowed street. I realize then that if the street isn't plowed, there are giant snow drifts and more than an inch on the ground no one leaves unless they must. How the people who must leave get out is beyond me. The entire time I kept thinking about how unsuited I am to live in this kind of climate. If it had been me stuck in a snow drift, I wouldn't have known what to do. I guess you learn. Natives get stuck, too, though. Last night, a friend visiting our neighbor got stuck in the ditch across the street. Also, I learned that the local newspaper is a liar. "Minuscule" snow fall my frozen foot.