Monday, January 26, 2009

Whatever It Takes

Bay-bee, it’s cold outside. This is Eskimo, Antarctica, frozen-tongue-on-the-flagpole kinda cold…and it’s getting OLD, already.

Okay….it’s winter….everything’s dead…we get it.

The wintry sound of crows “caw-ing” is starting to grate. Tick, tock Mother Nature…

Over the weekend, I’d decided to clean out my fridge…and instead of irreverently throwing the leftovers into the garbage, I’d decided to painstakingly fling them into the back yard.

I’d envisioned Bambi and Thumper…gleefully and gratefully stomping their way through the snow…nibbling and gnawing their way back to warm-weather health, whilst feasting on aged cucumber salad, stale bread and some pasta dish with a side of something I believe used to be green…but I’m not 100% sure.

Instead, what I attracted were many, many, big, black, mean-looking, beady-eyed crows. They squawked, spit and cackled at each other…vying for my castoff delicacies.

It was not the Disney moment I’d envisioned. Somewhere, Bambi and Thumper are shaking their heads at me in utter disgust and pity…mumbling “she’s freakin’ clueless” under their cold, foggy breaths.

Hey….I meant well.

Meanwhile, my firewood has been entombed in a block of ice and snow since SnowPlowGuy dug me out…and summarily created a 3-foot mound where my firewood used to be...around 5 or 6 snowstorms ago:

His name? It’s Joe.

His job? Well…I only know him as SnowPlowGuy. He’s the guy that everyone loves to see charge up your snowy driveway. He’s my hero….he’s DA MAN.

I’ve actually no clue what his last name is, what he looks like…or whether he’s talking on his cell or jamming down to some classic rock station in that spiffy red truck with the matching red plow…nor do I care. What I DO have is his cell number, although I’ve yet to need to actually call it. Right around the time I notice 3-4” of the crappy white stuff settling on my drive…right around the time I’m thinking “Uh-oh…crap…it’s not stopping…it’s too freakin’ cold…we don’t have enough shovels…I think I may have an undiagnosed case of gingivitis, coupled with a strangulated septum pressing on my fibrotic nerve….I probably shouldn’t risk being outdoors in my condition…”, up the drive he roars.

He dices….he slices….he cavorts and pummels that snow…leaving in his wake snow sculptures shaped like roses, igloos the size of condos and a path to the street so clear, you could eat off of it. He even pushes some of the snow DOWN the driveway…just so he can push it across the street…probably pissing off the TownSnowPlowGuy…just because HE CAN.

See the way the snow on his plow swirls eerily in the center like a capital “R”? I'll give you a sec to scroll back up.....(hums the theme to Shaft whilst waiting patiently...where the hell did that come from?)

That stands for RED RANGER, for that is what I've dubbed him.

Yep….he’ reactive…he’s recalcitrant…and he’s really, really red.

Go Joe.

Anonymous said...

I think it's JOE whose your hero!!

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