The Joy of Snow

What could be better... a dog and her girl digging tunnels and playing in the snow. (not to worry - there's not a lot of snow on the tunnel "roof" and I'm keeping an eye on them!)

I remember the days when snow was fun, and a snow day didn't mean arranging for alternate childcare, or having to shovel for hours on end only to come home and find your driveway plowed in... I remember not caring that it was cold, and snowmen and snowball fights... hot chocolate by the wood stove... why did we rush our childhood? Boy, were we stupid. Sometimes being a "grown-up" sucks.

Snow Job

I live in one of the areas in the Northeast that got socked by the "Valentine's Day Storm". That's what they're calling it. How quiant. Guess it's a bit better than "The Blizzard of '07" which is what I'm sure they'd be calling it if it hadn't hit on the 14th. It's hard to tell from the photo (taken from the front porch) but there's a good 18" of snow on the ground. The Blazer (not pictured - hubby had it to go to work) got stuck the night before because the snow was deeper than the ground clearance available. He was in his (male - sorry, but it kind of is) glory that he was allowed to be out driving when the roads were closed (Cop.)

You might also be able to see in the photo that the road is only plowed to the driveway across the street. This is because they hired a private plower - or maybe their daughter is dating him - I don't know... anyway, we get included by default, but the road does continue past our house. My inlaws live up there, and they have serious health problems. If not for the 4wd, even with the plowed road, we'd be going no where. The city trucks finally showed up yesterday afternoon. Apparently, the plow got stuck and had to be dug out by a backhoe. Lovely. All these wonderful city services and a 25% tax increase this year. (and next year, and the year after that, too.)

But, at least we were home, snug in our warm house with food and milk and plenty of pet food! At least we weren't one of the MANY poor souls that got stuck on 81 or 80 or 78 for days. DAYS. The National Guard was called in to help dig out and to give out blankets and food. They didn't close the on-ramps to the highways - they let people continue to get on the highway. I'll be putting certain items back in my truck! (Taken out to take the labs up to the lake - K would eat anything left in the back with her!) Blankets, extra gloves, water, a shovel, cat litter. All the stuff that I learned should be in the car in the winter growing up in New England.

Oh well. Enough bitching. Gotta get those kids bundled up and send 'em out to finish that snowfort they were working on!

Who would believe it?

The VIN# search website said something like: If you're looking for "your" car, don't. You won't find it. Look for one like it to buy.

Well.

My dh is one in a million... Let me take you back about 20 years.

1984. B loves his car. A 73 Maverick Grabber with a 302. No prom photos with the girl friend, but there's one with him and his car.

1988. Spring. I'm the gf now! We swap the Mav for his Dad's pick-up so we can bring all of our crap home from college. Long and short of it is that there is some kind of accident with it and it gets sold. (Still unclear if it was with or w/o B's blessing. I'm guessing w/o!)

B spends the next 20 odd years sighing about the lost car.

Winter 2006. A big bug crawls up B's arse about getting a Mav to restore. By mid Jan., he's found one that will fit the bill. A shell of a car (no engine, doors, trunk lid, steering wheel, seats...) but workable. We get it for $200. He is happy, but continues to look. He obsesses over every Mav on eBay.

Last weekend. We go look at a running 72 Mav out in the middle of no where. He decides to buy it, too. Hey, it runs! The next day he begins to scour junk yards for pieces/parts to make them whole. He comes home with news of a hood. $75. He seems to be looking for "permission" to buy it - I tell him to just go get the darned thing before it vanishes. (He isn't looking for permission as much as someone else to blame for the expenditure - hey - the wife told me to go get it!) While there, he asks the guys if they know of any other junk yards that have Mavs. Yes. They do.

B scoops C up at the bus stop and they drive out into the middle of nowhere, 3 miles down a dirt road to a junk yard. They tell him sure - we have 3. This is where they're located. The first one is bad. Maybe he can pull brakes. He comes around the corner and stops dead at the sight of the next Mav.

Red. The logo moved on the grill to make room for lights behind the grill. A little closer. The engine compartment is Golden Glo where a sloppy bodyshop didn't paint red. His heart stops. He calls me, nearly in tears. "I think I found her ."

Parking stickers on the back bumper from our college... but the clincher was when he opened the door, and a May 1988 pay stub fell out with his brother's name on it. He has indeed found HIS car.

The junk yard guy has agreed to not crush the car, and come spring, when the ground thaws and we can get her out of the mud (only one tire missing, or he would have cut the trees that have grown up out of the engine compartment and dragged her home himself one way or another!)