I think The Doors did a song for me: "Losers in the Storm." At least, that has looped though my head hour after hour, starting at 5:30 am in the blizzard, but all was soon to be well because yesterday I got on Craiglist and hired someone to plow out Husband so he'd have a nice easy morning despite a foot of snow. He works very hard and there's no reason he, with his slooow shoveling wife (that's ME!) should have to suffer on a cold, snowy morning.
Looks like we lost a branch there on the right (note to Husband - that's why I asked for a chainsaw for Christmas.) Well, I should have known that the Loser in the Storm was going to wake to find the pipes to the kitchen and downstairs bathroom had frozen. Right: leave a trickle of water running in frigid weather. I got it, I got it. Down I went into the freezing cellar. After countless tries with fancy hair dryer moves, followed by placing towels with scalding water on them to the coldest pipes, then pleading with them to thaw, (apparently, people with my aura can communicate with copper, but less successfully so with PVC) and finally, wrapping them lovingly in warmed towels from the drier, I realized that Husband was out shoveling. You see, the snow plower who assured me he'd be here at 6am? Couldn't find the house. Loser in the Storm. So, off went Husband to shovel out the driveway while I continued to reason with our frozen pipes. I tried jokes, a song, even silence. I tried to avoid swear words (it's the New Year, after all.) No Diet Coke, No F Bombs unless it's a major knitting error.
Husband finally left, leaving me to do God knows What with the pipes. Please don't tell me to call a plumber. I've read everything. I even put salted boiling water from our Irish kettle down the DRAINS. A plumber can only look at you sorrowfully and turn off the main, which by George, I am prepared to do if I hear the sudden gushing of water in the subzero cellar, indicating a burst pipe. A girl who asks for a chainsaw for Christmas (admittedly the Orla Kiely bag was lovely) darn well knows how to shut off the water main. I'm so glad the water works upstairs. Small blessings, eh?
So, I did what any enlightened woman would do and crawled completely under the covers and meditated, meaning that I fell asleep for 3 hours, only waking to find that the kiddos had found the Twinkies I had hidden in my bedside table. I'm not sure when or why I bought them but they seemed a mysterious thing of substance to have, a little retro, a little glamourous and droll if discussed in proper company. "Weren't you going to yarn bomb the mailbox?!" Bubbles' demanded. That's RIGHT! I jumped out of bed, newly energized! If we still have frozen pipes (we do) I can finish my mailbox accoutrement and maybe the ProJo (that's the Providence Journal to all you NewYoTie Readahs) would put it on the cover. Knitted Mailbox Cheerful Despire Foot of Snow up to its Neck.
But that was not meant to be, was it? "Losers in the Storm" loops again and again through my mind. It seems my sad little mailbox had been knocked over by one of the snow plows. No doubt a sympathetic plower, of the gentle artistic persuasion, who walked it across the street to set it on our wall. It looked so lonely I almost teared up. Then, I turned around. Our covered (covered meaning no snow gets onto it) porch, which has my dumpster dived Peacock chair on it. The covered porch failed to protect it from drifts of snow. It, too, looked sad, or at least like it's butt was icy and cold. So, dejected, I went back upstairs, ate chips, salsa and a few M and Ms in bed and pouted. The water in our bathroom is running a little bit which makes me feel like I'm pregnant and in the OBs office with stage fright and someone is trying to make me pee.
It's time to go put more warmed towels on the pipes in the cellar since I won't be knitting for my mailbox today. I hope you enjoyed your storm or your non-storm. If you know how to thaw out pipes, drop me a line, or if you have an extra chainsaw that would be appreciated as well.