Ahhhhhhh!

Is there anything more temporarily gratifying than shoveling the driveway after (during?) winter's first real snowfall? I pity the poor saps in San Diego, El Paso, Paradise Valley, et al. who never experience the out and out joy of an honest snow shoveling. What could be more life affirming than pushing away death's (i.e. nature's) constant onslaught, if only for a few hours (and thank God the snow tonight, though considerable, was rather light--more pushing than wrestling/lifting/flinging)? Sure, eventually, death/nature will get its way, but what a tangible sign of one's own endurance in the face of mortality a freshly shoveled driveway is. You see exactly what you have accomplished and the boundaries of what you have not. You have cleared a negotiable path for yourself and any intrepid visitors. There is no more glorious middle finger to winter's encompassing doom gloom despair than a house that screams in the midst of darkness desolation hibernation, "Yes sir, we're open for business."

And oh the sensual delights. The yin yang of cold air blowing on your sweaty brow. The repetitive heft and release of each shovelful. The sound of the shovel's scraping on pavement confirming that you're doing your job very well indeed. The smell of envy coming from neighbors' houses as they watch you and know full well that while they presently think you're nuts (while mentally remembering how to dial 911 just in case you keel), in the morning when they trudge to their cars and gun them to try to get out of their driveways somehow, you'll be backing out like it's the 4th of July. The overwhelming relief spasms throughout your musculature when you retire/prop that snow-caked shovel against the garage wall. The insane ecstasy of kicking off wet boots and shuffling into warm slippers oblivious to your soggy socks. The proud blog-boasting after all (in the absence of a Swiss Miss masseuse to rub me deeply the right way) is said and done.

Eat your hearts out tropical bums.

But now, damnit, stop snowing before my landlord gets home so he can see I actually pull my weight around here. And where the hell is Ben Gay when I need him?