This morning I trudged out through a foot and a half of snow to un-bury my car from the drift in the driveway. I live in the Midwest. I should be used to this by now.
I’m not.
So there I am, shoveling the driveway (only the part behind the car. I am lazy that way) in my winter bookselling attire (a.k.a. how many layers can I fit under a skirt, boots and a cardigan today?), when my neighbor comes across the street with her snowblower to talk to me.
I’m on my way to work, the roads are lousy – I have to be rude & keep shoveling as I talk to her.
She says, “Mary, I’d love to help you, but you’ve got a gravel drive. Merwin could have done it when he was alive, but I just can’t make the blower work on gravel.”
My neighbor is an 80 year old widow. And she’s apologizing for not being able to help dig out my driveway.
My neighbor is awesome.
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