We got slammed with snow yesterday … again … to the tune of about a foot. I shoveled us out after it tapered off in the late afternoon … which is why I was kind of bummed when I woke up this morning to find that it had snowed about another six inches during the night. Back outside I went again to clear the snow along the edge of the roof (using a roof rake, by the way … an item I never even knew existed until I purchased a home; if I don’t use it, ice dams form and water from the melting snow and ice leaks into the house, and golly gee, boys and girls, it sure is fun to be a homeowner!) and to shovel us out yet again.
Bitching about the snow is a New England tradition, and I certainly do my fair share … but, to be honest, part of me kind of enjoys shoveling. I’d rather roll around in broken glass and take a turpentine bath than rake leaves, but shoveling somehow works for me. I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m borderline OCD (and Wonder Woman would probably argue the “borderline” part), and forcing myself to do way too perfect a job of shoveling every single square inch of pavement, cement and flagstone on our property somehow soothes that part of my brain.