A quiet day today

Years ago, in 1950, my grandma came down for Thanksgiving, wearing a spring coat. It began snowing in the afternoon, then overnight, and all day Friday, and all weekend, too, according to legend. 

It was more than a week before Grandma went home. She and mom caught up on mending, including all the socks that had to be darned. How my brothers loved wearing "those darned socks" that Grandma passed to them, with that bad word attached.

Today was that kind of quiet, surreal. Laura spent hours outside, on three major snow moving jobs, all in our drive, and one more to help Cathy next door. I saw Ron across the street pushing an electric shovel, and that's the first time in three years I've seen it out.

Next to Ron, a young couple who came a year ago last fall. They are round and rolly, like Tonka Willow figures. He came out and shoveled for an hour this morning. He moved a lot of snow. He came out later and shoveled fiercely, but then decided to make a dash for it.

He called his wife out, put her behind the wheel. I watched him give her steering directions by circling his fingers. Then he began pushing, to no avail. He hadn't cleared behind and the drift was to the bumper. He got the shovel, she plied the snow brush. They reduced the barrier by half.

Back as they were, she steering, he pushing mightily. Before he heaved, he looked both ways, as if there were anything on the road. At last she was out and pointed the right direction. He kissed her goodbye, and as her pink plush jammies went back up the steps, I gave him an arm pump and a thumbs up. He grinned and went to work (I assume).

I hemmed sixteen towels from the last warp and wound several bouts of the new warp. I'm dead in the water, though, until my last order of warp arrives from Kansas. Diane told me on Saturday, when I ordered it, they'd had six inches.

When the snow began. The last picture I took, several shots above, the snow was an inch from the bench.