Here’s the update from high noon. At least the sun was out, which was an improvement over yesterday. Also, there was no precipitation today, which was a glorious change of pace after yesterday.
We went back out in the late afternoon to chip away at more of the drive, thinking the sunlight might help, though it still felt like it was 10 degrees. Maybe it did. This is the system we adapted today. It is pretty good, if only because we had a lot of driveway in which to experiment.
I took the larger snow shovel and, standing in the middle of the drive, I would ram it underneath the frozen solid slab of ice that covered all of the earth. After two or four big pushes a few feet were carved out. My lovely bride, standing in front of me, and with a slightly smaller shovel, and one designed with a much better angle for, ya know, shoveling, would scoop those chunks into the yard. I worked around her, scooping up and chopping the left and right sides. This shovel is large enough that three rounds would just about clear the width of the drive. I figured that attacking the middle intimidated the flanks, because those were always a bit easier to bust up. In the places the ice got stubborn, I turned the shovel onto its corner and give a little axe-like tap. Working like this, we made our way down the drive, clearing off about 990 square feet in an hour.
Then we helped dig out the new neighbors. They have two little kids, and it was still ridiculously cold, never mind that I ditched my jacket. So mom and dad were taking turns with the kids inside, and the drive outside. Welcome to the neighborhood, nice to finally meet you.
Our other neighbor, Joe the Elder, was out on his tractor trying to plow the three neighborhoods for which he is responsible. No one gave him this job. He took it on himself. And it’s a good thing, despite the many taxes we pay, we are not the recipients of any road cleaning services. During last weekend’s snow was the first time in three winters I’ve seen a snowplow go down the road that wasn’t Joe the Elder. He must have been lost.
My lovely bride walked out of the neighborhood to see the big road, by which we mean a two-lane county highway. It is not in great shape. The local school districts have all canceled classes again tomorrow. I have just uploaded some reading materials for my students. There are a lot of country roads between our house and campus and I’d already heard from about 15 percent of my students that they weren’t going to risk it, anyway. I do not blame them. I commend the wisdom of the safe decision. We’ll catch up Thursday and next Tuesday, if necessary. (It’ll be necessary, but we’ll do it.)
As it says in the video, above, we dug out Sunday. You see why that’s necessary, but you also realize it is a Sisyphean task. I believe it snowed and sleeted and iced after that dig-out as it had before hand.
We got eight inches, easy. But even more on the leeward side of the house, where the sidewalk sits, blown off the roof no doubt.

That was Sunday. We were contemplating how to handle the drive today and I said, Are you expecting any deliveries this week? No? We’re not shoveling the sidewalk.

Saturday, before the storm blew in, we went out to celebrate my god-parents-in-law (just go with it) 50th anniversary. It was partially a surprise. It was supposed to be last weekend, on their actual anniversary, but that got snowed out. Their daughters hustled to get it in today, else we might have just celebrated in the summer.
It went like this. They’d rented a room at the happy couple’s favorite Italian restaurant. Much of their family came, some old work friends came, and so on. They just expected the immediate family for dinner, so the surprise was this full room. My godfather-in-law is a retired teacher, and I sat next to two of his former colleagues. The easiest way to say it is that the stories your teachers have about their lives away from school will really make you second-guess every opinion you had of these people. These two guys were no different.
Dinner was served. Vows were renewed, as officiated by one of their daughters. Photographs were taken. Cake was distributed. This was the cake topper.

Their actual wedding cake topper. (The groom was not wearing a black tux in 1976. It was a much better tuxedo.) One of their son-in-laws pulled it from safe storage when they weren’t looking so it could be used again Saturday. They’d asked all of the guests to prepare pages of a scrapbook, memories of family and friends for half a century. It was lovely.
My father-in-law, the best man at their wedding, gave a toast Saturday, much as he did so long ago. He did a great job. My mother-in-law gave a little speech. These two wouldn’t have been together if not for my in-laws. The two men were childhood best friends. They’ve known each other 70 years. The two women went to nursing school together, and were roommates there. They met at my in-laws’ wedding. My in-laws had the one daughter, and they are her godparents. They had two daughters, and my in-laws are their godparents.
Not the whole of the dinner party, but that immediate family — the happy couple, their daughters’ families, my in-laws, us — returned to their house for a few minutes after dinner. The still-blushing bride pulled out her wedding album. I saw photos of both of their parents — two of which I had the chance to meet a few times. She pulled out her wedding dress, which has been carefully sealed in a cardboard picture box all of these years.
Fifty years.
Fifty years, and one week. Count the weeks. That’s 2,601 weeks. Count the days. That’s 18,269 days, as of Saturday. Lovely people; they built a fine life and a wonderful family. They said it was about this cold that day, too.

























