Shovelling

There is something so theraputic for me about shovelling.

I've been known to ask Mike not to shovel, or to hurry out before he gets there, just so that I can have the satisfaction of a shovelled driveway.

Maybe I get it from my Dad who is even more particular than I am. He would be out at the crack of dawn on any morning when it snowed and he'd be shovelling away instead of running. He'd even wake me up early on Sunday morning to help him if I asked him nicely the night before.

(Speaking of Dad and snow - he's met his match. There is a gentlemen down the road from us that is SO particular about shovelling. Mike refers to him as my adopted dad - as in "Theresa, your adopted Dad is scraping tiny chunks of ice off his driveway."  "Theresa your adopted Dad is out shovelling the .2 of a millimetere of snow that we got last night."  He makes me laugh with how particular he is - laugh and just hope that I'm not some day retired and like him ;)

But there is something so satisfying about a well-shovelled driveway.  About edges that are nice and straight and snow shovelled right to the grass edge. There is something theraputic for me about starting at one end and working til it looks just so.

You know what the funniest part of this post is? Right now, as I type this, my driveway is a mess. It's a mixture of snow and slush and car tracks and people tracks and snow and well, it's a mess!  Ha!