I have a new way of dealing with frost on the truck windows. On the few mornings I drive down to the gas station on the main road (the former “triple murder Mustang”) to buy the Santa Fe New Mexican because the paper carrier won’t deliver to this address, I no longer scrape. Especially since I always take the Queen o’ the Mountains, my beloved ’01 Dakota, and I’ve seen what years of scraping ice off dusty windows has done to the Vibe. Now I just use the windshield washer squirter until I can see out a little bit, roll both windows halfway down, even in single-digit cold, and blast the heat inside the cab. By the time I get down to the highway, the windshield is clear, but I still have to lower the windows to pull out from the mini-mart on the way back. You can tell my wife is on the sofa in her bathrobe, right?
Not sure what we’re up to now, not sure at all. Today I shoveled the sloping gravel driveway after the howling horizontal snow on Wednesday buried it again, so the new wood guy I haven’t met yet won’t get stuck. It was beautiful outside, about 25 degrees (-4°C) in full sun with a modest breeze. I used a broom to sweep the snow off both vehicles to let the sun in through the glass and melt the ice around the edges. What was left of the woodpile was covered with snow. No way to make that go away, so I pulled the piñon out of the drift two pieces at a time, clonked them together to knock off the snow, and restacked the lot. Brilliant! I like to make a difference in my environment, plus I had the boots, the gloves, and wasn’t really cold. But this snow thing takes up so much time. That’s part of what I’m not sure of any more. It’s also dangerous to walk outside with all the freaking ice. I think about the co-pay on a broken leg and watch my step. What if I die before we work this out?
Learn what happy is, that’s what.