It's another snowy day. I am curled up on my living room sofa, nestled into a heating pad, a steaming cup of coffee within reach. My laptop sits on my knees, pressing my butt firmly into the vibrating Homedic mat beneath me. I worry that this is not a great position for my spine, though my physical therapist told me on Tuesday that hammocks are okay and this is pretty much a hammock position. Of course, my therapist also said not to lay in any one position for very long. Yesterday I was here on the sofa for approximately six hours.
How long is too long?
Rachel Ray is in my kitchen, demonstrating how to make a really "Yummo" pasta dish. I can hear her droning on and on, oblivious to the fact that I left the room ten minutes ago.
"You just give those onions a rough chop - nothing fancy - I never worry about the bigger chunks. It'll give your guests something to get their teeth around."
God, she is so cute, don't you think? I'm thrilled she's whipping up stuff from my pantry today 'cause with all this snow I have no intentions of running out to buy her any fancy ingredients. Actually, that's why Rachel is in my kitchen. She's pretty good about working with the stuff I usually have on hand. Giada De Laurentiis, on the other hand, was in my kitchen just before Rachel. I love her too, but she uses a number of items that I never stock. She told me that her refrigerator always has fresh lemons, fresh herbs, and a container of ricotta. She also said there are always bags of berries and shrimp in her freezer. She and The Barefoot Contessa lose me when they start zesting lemons and chopping fresh parsley, rosemary, and thyme. The rest of the stuff I actually do have in my fridge right now, but if I want the food Giada and Ina Garten usually make, I'm going to have to get it out of their refrigerators. I'm cooking for one here, folks. It just doesn't make any sense for me to spend $4 each on a bunch of herbs, only to watch them dissolve into compost in my vegetable bin. I have tarragon in there right now: what a waste. I bought it for one recipe and the remainder of it has been sitting in my fridge since last Thanksgiving.
I did what I could yesterday with the new snow. The first few shovelings (around 9am) were so heavy that it was hard to lift, even though it only looked to be an inch deep. The stuff that was falling later in the afternoon was much lighter and more manageable. It made me really happy that I'd put my energy into getting rid of that first layer of heavy slush so I didn't have to lift them both together. The only problem was that all day long I simply could not face the end of the driveway. In the last few storms I have started at the end and worked my way back to the house... but yesterday it was just too daunting. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak, and a tad bit crotchety.
That delay in shoveling was - of course - a mistake.
Even without doing the end where the street plows had piled up frozen chunks and boulders, I was so tired, so beaten up, that last night it was hard to find a comfortable sleeping position. I didn't fall asleep until well after 1:00AM, having made a trip downstairs for more ibuprofen. If I'd had any whiskey, I would've chugged a shot or two, but my liquor cabinet is practically emptied. I finished the last shot of Sake after the previous day's shoveling. Now I'm down to the things that are meant for sipping. It's hard for me to "shoot" B&B, Sambuca, Baileys, and Crème de menthe. I don't even remember a drink recipe with Crème de menthe. Why did I ever buy Crème de menthe? Who uses Crème de menthe?
I slept okay between 2:00 and 7:00am, but I suddenly woke fully at that point. I watched some news, skipping channel to channel. NBC was doing their regular show from Vancouver, updating us on everything that was happening at the Olympics (enough already - I'm bored with it), but ABC and CBS skipped their National News feed and stayed with the local broadcasts. Obviously they had decided that the snow here in the North East was too big a story to cut away from. I didn't agree. With my nose peeking out from under my duvet into the 55 degree air of my bedroom (the thermostat will turn the heat back up to 66 degrees at 9:00am), I was hoping to hear about something other than snow. I would have appreciated, for instance, a story from Key West. I would have liked to see someone collecting shells and saying how happy they were that they'd moved to Florida.
Why is it that the only time we see pictures of the people in Florida is when they have just been blasted by a hurricane or their strawberry fields are being caked in ice during a freak freeze? There is a reason that people move to Florida. Could we see pictures of that please?
I took a few more ibuprofen, turned off the TV, and drifted back off to sleep. When I awoke it was 11:35am. I'd been in bed for nearly twelve hours. I wonder what my physical therapist would say about that? I probably would have stayed asleep if the sun hadn't come out and, reflecting off the snow covering every horizontal surface, including tree branches, my bedroom lit up like opening night on Broadway. I took it as a 'sign'. Without brushing my teeth or hair, I pulled on yesterday's clothes, grabbed my snow shovel and headed straight out. Little Gia was wagging close behind, though the drift against my storm door made her backstep a bit. But in minutes I'd worked a clean path from the front door to the lawn where Missy G could do her doggy business. Feeling totally refreshed, I cleared the path out to the drive, alongside the car, in front of the car, out to... the pile of icy boulders at the end of the driveway. What had been loose chunks of plowed ice yesterday had congealed into a solid glacial wall.
It seemed like that would have been a good time to go back inside to make myself a pot of coffee, but I pushed through knowing I had concert tickets for tonight. At one point it seemed like I wasn't going to be able to finish the job. My arms and shoulders ached each time my shovel was stopped short in the rock-ice. Many of the chunks were too heavy to lift and I'd break them up by swinging my shovel like an ax. Eventually I got it done, sort of, though I am hoping I can get up enough speed to blast my car through the parts I simply couldn't break apart. It was a gruesome task, reminding me why all winter long I had always started at the end first.
By then the eye of the storm had passed. The brilliant blue sky I was initially working under had clouded over, and the snow was beginning to fall again. It's supposed to snow right on through tonight... but the earlier sun had shined so bright that my street is melted completely down to macadam, and even my sidewalk is practically dry. I feel accomplished; sore and possibly bruised, but satisfied and proud.
When Rachel Ray is done in my kitchen (she only takes thirty minutes to make a whole damn meal) Ina will start her thing. That will be a good time to get up to refill my coffee cup and turn off the TV so I can get focused on my writing. Oh...no...wait... I hear Rachel. She's making me a drink to go with her Piz-sagna. She's using the leftover coffee in my pot - perfect - plus some of that Sambuca in my liquor cabinet - excellent - and now she's heading to the pantry to get the chocolate covered espresso beans...
What? Rachel - I don't have those in my pantry. Rachel... you are ruining it for me.
Okay, so maybe now is a good time to go and turn off the TV. It's probably also a good time for all of us Nor'easterners to fill our afternoon wine glasses and pass the ibuprofen.
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