I’ve had it with winter. Specifically, I’ve had it with all the white crap Mother Nature keeps dumping on us. I nearly got stuck at work yesterday because the city does such a lousy job clearing the streets, and the same thing happened again today. After narrowly avoiding the embarrassment of having to ask my boss to give me a push, what happened? I came home and promptly got stuck in the mouth of my driveway, with the back end of my van sticking out into our very narrow street.
I was stuck so tight that after the kids and I tried to get out for about ten minutes, I went across the street and asked the neighbor for help (Seymour wasn’t home yet). It took the two of us a good half hour and maybe a little more to get my van free. The city I live in (yes, I know, it’s a small town, but that’s how we refer to our municipal government) doesn’t do any better when it comes to cleaning streets than the city I work in. So in short, I’ve had it with winter.
Now, don’t get me wrong. When the sun shines on newly fallen snow and it sparkles like a thousand diamonds, I love it as much as the next person. I appreciate the beauty of snow. However, I hate dealing with it. I hate driving in it. I hate shoveling it. I hate cleaning it off of my car.
But at times like these, I often think of a joke my dad shared with me once. It’s about winter in Iowa and, given the trials I’ve had with the snow today and the fact that it was three years ago today that I lost him, this seems like a good time to share it again. I’ve posted it before, but here it is again in all its snowy glory: