Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

If it weren't for the newscasters chatting happily about how this past weekend's blizzard was one of the 10 worst in the last 100 years, I wouldn't have thought it was so bad. Yes, we got nearly a foot of snow in one day, but then it was done, unlike a similar storm we had last winter, where the snow just kept coming for days.

They're predicting more on Wednesday, and this makes me nervous because my snow shovel has disappeared.

I bought this shovel last winter after a former upstairs neighbor bent up the original metal snow shovel I'd brought with me. After buying the new one, I placed it on the enclosed porch for general use. Usually, my current upstairs neighbor shovels the walk. Of course, he also puts down tons of salt, which keeps the sidewalk clear but get tracks into the house.

It's a good shovel, a deep one that picks up the snow well, and it came in handy when I dug out my car on Sunday, even though I have no intentions of driving anywhere for at least a couple days. I mean, after all, if I do someone is likely to steal my freshly shoveled parking spot.

So I left a note on my upstairs neighbor's door, asking him if he knew where the shovel was and telling him that if it had been stolen, we'd have to replace it by Wednesday. I'll wait to see what sort of response I get. Hopefully, the shovel will reappear. My guess is that he borrowed it either to shovel his girlfriend's place or to have in his trunk on his way to work, in case he had to shovel out a parking space.

It's not the expense of buying a new shovel that bothers me. It's the possibility of finding a new shovel right now. Usually, the best time to get a snow shovel is before the first snow hits. Now, I have a feeling there wouldn't be many left.

Of course, there's still the bent up useless one sitting on the porch, and a couple small ones that are really meant for digging holes and not for shoveling snow. I suppose if we have to, we could make a go of it.

But I'm hoping my theory is correct and the shovel reappears.

The Gryphon and I had a quiet weekend at my place. Most of Saturday, I worked on the new issue of Wild Violet. I had hoped to complete it by next weekend, but if I don't, I should be able to finish it by next week.

We hit the grocery store Saturday morning to stock up. This was perhaps not the best time to go shopping, since everyone else had the same idea. But even with all those people, the lines weren't terribly bad, and people seemed to be in good spirits.

We picked up ingredients to cook dinner at home. We'd looked through a cookbook to find ideas and found a very simple one for fish, which simply involved using pesto. The Gryphon wanted to try a different kind of fish, so he got some shark. It was different than other types of fish, a little chewy but good.

Sunday, I had a little bit of work to do for my job but expected to have plenty of time to work on Wild Violet. It didn't turn out that way because of one thing: Johnny Carson. My main income is from transcribing cable news, so naturally, the breaking news meant extra work that day.

I had a break for dinner, and The Gryphon and I walked to a nearby diner. But although they're usually open 24-7, this time they were closed. We stopped at the grocery store again to get something a little more interesting than what I had stocked for my daily meals during the week. I tried a vegetarian lasagna, and The Gryphon made himself some healthy burritos.

By the time I finished my assignments, I didn't feel like doing anything but vegging. So I chilled out, watching the end of Bridget Jones' Diary, which was on NBC, while The Gryphon did some work for the office.

I did manage Sunday to take Una for a walk and get pictures of the snow. The air wouldn't have been too cold if it weren't for the freezing blasts of winter wind that made it seem 20 degrees colder. Today it's calm, and if we have any luck the sun will come out later and help melt away some of this white stuff before more starts falling.

And hopefully, my shovel will find its way home.

Copyright 2005 by Alyce Wilson

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