Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I can remember when I was a kid (oh God, now I sound like my dad!) and getting a bunch of snow dumped on the town meant a vacation day from school. As I grew up in Iowa, it happened several times each school year. My brother and I would bundle up and run outside to build a snow fort along with the requisite snowman. One year my younger neighbor and I built a standing Snoopy in my front yard. Now six inches of snow doesn't result in a vacation day at all, but instead turns into a labor day. My husband couldn't get his car out of the garage this morning, so he took mine. I was left to shovel the snow. It was fun for about the first fifteen minutes. Then, as my arms began to shake and my back began to ache, I started to wonder what it is I do at the fitness center three days a week. I must be working on the wrong muscles, because I sure could feel every single one of mine. Two hours later I am back in the house feeling ten years older. Too bad my mom isn't here to make me some hot cocoa.