No bratwurst for you today, honey.In my thirty-two years of living here in the bowels of Appalachia, I've never seen so much snow on my back porch. Drifted and piled up, it looked about three feet high, and it resisted the pushy machinations of the door when I leaned against it to go outside. Even the big snow of January 1978 didn't deposit as much snow on my property - though the storm back then did bury tractor trailer rigs out on the Interstate to the west of here, where Ohio fades imperceptibly into the flat monotony of Indiana like some singer’s voice trailed from a passing car.
Pray tell, is this what Al Gore had in mind when he spoke about Global Warming? Are we to interpret these rising albedoes - sullen earth overlain with two feet of snow and scintillating in the brightness of the early morning sun - as failed attempts to push the warmth against the glazing of this greenhouse?
I shoveled more than I wanted today. And yet, I'm faced with the prospect of shoveling 2,400 cubic feet of snow off my driveway in the next couple of days - before the next storm rolls this way.
I liked it better when I could look out the window at my neighbor snow-blowing his driveway so he could get to work. Then I would take another sip of coffee and thank God that I didn't have anything pressing that would take me away from that hot-chocolate-by-the-fire sort of day.
Sometimes it doesn't pay to be smug.
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