Let It Snow

Here in eastern Washington we like snow in the mountains. We hope for a deep snowpack for skiers and snowboarders and to ensure a good water supply during our hot, dry summers. Lots of snow is not always the case at the lower elevations where the cities are, but this month Spokane has been dumped on, and I find myself wearing my Sorel boots more often than not. The boots are practical and effective at keeping my feet dry — but I feel a little like I’m wearing clown shoes while I tramp up and down shoveling the walk or driveway while my husband, who usually splits this chore with me, recovers from knee surgery inside the house. Wearing clown shoes makes me think of my good friend who after retirement, decided to go to clown school. A lot of people think clowns are creepy — but it’d be difficult to find anything creepy about my friend with her smiling eyes and happy face, a seventy-year-old woman who walks and waves in parades and twists balloons into animal shapes at birthday parties. So while I wear my big boots and shovel, I think about her, and I see the kid across the road get off the school bus and throw himself on his back to make a snow angel. The snow’s been a challenge for me this year, and those things make me happy. I cleared the front walk but only half the driveway, and left the snow a foot deep on the back deck. I remember how my mother made sure everything was always and precisely shoveled. My philosophy is different: ┬áIt’ll melt.

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