The Snow Shovel Chronicles: Part I

Despite the raging blizzard outside, Castle Curmudgeon is not snowed in. It’s almost snowed in.

Almost snowed in is when you could get out even as Mother Nature is hell bent on burying you. This means you’ve got equipment (a snowblower/tractor/nuclear accelerator) that can handle snow. Deep snow. You must have adequate fuel and the reasonable assumption that your machinery will start. Your vehicle must be a 4×4 (and if you’re smart you’ve got two of them!).

You also need proper clothing; a jacket which weighs sixty pounds, a hat lined with the fur of a dead animal, and boots which are suitable for use in space. Comfort and mobility are irrelevant.

I meet that criteria. I’m not stuck. If there was an emergency (such as running out of coffee) I could get out to town. I could suit up, fire up something to move the snow, and hammer the snowdrifts until I’ve carved a path to the road.

Shovels are for pussies!

Then I could unearth the 4×4 from under a drift, chain up, and white knuckle it to town where I would get hemmed in by a herd of lemmings.

When travel conditions are sub-optimal, smart people stay home.

Or…

I could sit here in front of the wood fire with a glass of whiskey and a good book.

I could get out there and shovel snow until my arms fall off. Yeah right...

The snow looks real pretty when it’s on the other side of the window. The pantry is stocked, and I don’t have to get to work for a couple days. Why not wait until the storm is over? Perhaps that makes me lazy? Under the circumstances, being a lard ass is just wise time management.

I am not “snowed in” I am “lard assed in”.

Now you know.