We went to bed last night with a weather forecast of perhaps an inch of snow followed by rain.
We woke up this morning to this winter wonderland with predictions of continuing snow until 4 p.m. After enjoying my walk yesterday in 50 degree weather, this was a bit of a culture shock.
Rather than drive over the snow and packing it down into difficult-to-remove ruts, I skipped my trip to the gym and W. didn't attend his morning coffee klatch at the Village Store. We would wait for the worst of the storm to be over and then break out the shovels and rev up the snowblower.
I was planted at my computer, positioned at windows looking out to the street in front of the house.
We live on a dead-end road. It would be helpful if the town could see their way to giving us a sign that shared this information with unwary visitors to our street because this is what I saw outside of my window.
I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the truck.
We certainly hadn't ordered any furniture and yet here came this giant truck, backing down our tiny serpentine hill of a driveway.
And sure enough, they got stuck. They had thought ours was a through street and were trying to turn around.
Wheels spun, a delivery guy dug with his shovel, but to no avail. I knew what I had to do.
I went to the garage, retrieved two rubber mats, and instructed the gentleman with the shovel to place them in front of the back wheels. Sure enough, (and thank heaven) they were out on the first try.
Except now our pristine driveway - the one we stayed home to preserve - has two double-tired paths embedded in it by enough pressure to create diamonds out of coal.