Tuesday, January 27, 2015


     The last time we had snow a couple of young lads knocked on my door and asked if they could shovel our sidewalk.  This whole scenario matched my small town, Norman Rockwellesque fantasies, so I quickly dipped into my wallet for the boys, only pausing for a moment to wish I was wearing a shirt waist dress and sensible heels instead of fuzzy pajamas and slipper boots.  I also wished I had warm cookies and hot chocolate to offer them at the completion of their delightful job.  Come to think of it, I wish they boys had been wearing pea coats, those plaid hats with the flaps that hang over the ears and would it have killed them if one of them had worn red mittens?

    Well, if my fantasy fell a little short it was nothing compared to Ariel's dashed fantasy.  He had a moment of excitement when he came home and saw the walk shoveled but then images of two boys on bicycles on shovels riding around town popped in his head along with a voice that told him, "Lora paid those boys to shovel".  He knew his own twelve year old son had spent his day curled up in fleece bed sheets shoveling big blocks of virtual snow on his computer.  Let me just say that his disappointment was apparent when he came in from work.

     My mother put my mind at ease over the situation by telling me that there are shovelers in this world and people who hire shovelers and not to worry that my son wasn't a shoveler because everyone has a place.  She couldn't really help me with the sensible heals or warm cookies.

     Today we are having a nice snowfall and I thought, even though Enzo might not make a living in the future as a snow removal specialist he could certainly make his daddy happy by pushing a few flakes off the blue stone this afternoon.  I cheerfully presented this idea to the boy while we feasted on cheese danish this morning.  Enzo clearly told me, "No", he would not be going out there to shovel.  "It's so cold....and sweaty....at the same time.  Honestly Mom, no good can come of that".

      Ok. Ok. My son isn't a manual labor sort of fella.  Fine.  Now I'm just hoping those boys come back before the mail man  breaks her neck.  They don't even have to be wearing red mittens.  Then again, Enzo could do a little babysitting, which is neither cold nor sweaty, while I go out and shovel.  I  just happen to own a very adorable pair of mittens and enjoy the activity quite a lot.

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