I have now dug my car out of the snow. Of course, since the landlord's sons haven't plowed the driveway yet, I'm just as snowed in as I was at 1:30 when I went outside. However, I have at least completed my part of it. I feel a little guilty about not digging out Lucy, the woman in her 60s who lives in the basement apartment. However, all the men who live around this building are in considerably better shape than I am, and I'm sure one of them will get to it eventually. The problem is that growing up in Massachusetts taught me something about shoveling snow: once I stop and go in, I will never go back to it. So I learned to just keep going until it's all finished. The thing is, it isn't all finished - just the part I'm responsible for. And I'm not very good at relying on others, partly because I've been let down so many times. I'm back inside and working on letting it go, though. Besides, I need lunch.
I'm very pleased that I thought to buy a snow shovel Friday evening, though. My first winter here, daernhelm and I didn't have a shovel, and I remember trying to dig out using an old Tupperware container. This year, like last year, the landlord left out snow shovels we could use. It was still nice to have my own, though.