Sunday morning. Mom and I woke up, late of course, and had to rush to get ready for church. She told me I didn't need to wash my hair...not something I agreed with but, c'est la vie. I scarfed down some Puffins (my absolute favorite Whole Foods cereal) smeared on some mascara and threw on my sweater. After bundling up in my down coat, scarf and gloves I was ready for the snow boots. Mom was running down the stairs and we were off, Church here we come!
Dad had suggested that when we back out of the driveway we try to hit the tracks of his truck so that it would be easier for us to get out in Mom's 2WD Toyota Rav4. Why anyone would get a 2WD SUV is beyond me, but to each his own. With the blizzard that we have been experiencing for the last week it is quite difficult, suffice to say, to recognize exactly where the snow drifts start and how high they really are. Unfortunately, we didn't see the 3 ft high tightly packed drift looming in our future pathway. We gunned it down the driveway and "Whomp!" Stuck. Not moving. Tired spinning. Yep, we were high-centered. In a fit of laughter we hopped out of the car and called Dad to come outside and help.
Now is when you should be ready to really laugh. My dad, the glorious and hilarious man that he is loooooves getting a reaction from people. He struts outside wearing his long underwear (he pointed out that they are navy blue with pockets) sweatshirt, hat and gloves, with his cowboy boots and the Pièce de résistance, my grandmother's fur coat! He sure thought he was the cat's meow.
After some neighbors stopped to help us once followed by us getting ourselves stuck again, then, rocking back and forth, putting a board under the front tire and scooping all around the tires, we had to call in the big guns. The neighbor boys. It took four grown men and me behind the wheel to get our car out of the driveway.
By that time, we were already 15 minutes late to church and by the time we got there we would be almost a half an hour unfashionably late. Dad needed time to snowblow and scoop the driveway so we took a nice tour around the neighborhood to check out the rest of the winter wonderland. There were some drifts that were so big that even the city snow plows avoided them. Chickens, I'd say. People were strewn all over the streets shoveling and scooping hoping to make enough of an indent to allow them to leave their homes after suffering a long bout of cabin fever.
As I phoned Dad to tell him we were on our way back he said to make sure we come from the east because he had a path ready and he would direct us in. He's all about directing. As we turn down 34th Street (yep, we live on 34th Street just like the movie, that was one of my most bragged about things as a child) I saw a tall lanky figure in the distance. As we got closer I could make out that the figure was wearing a woman's winter fedora and familiar "signature" cowboy boots while holding a flashlight in one hand and a kitchen scrubber brush in the other. Good Lord, it was my father. He was literally an air traffic controller guiding us safely into the garage. For even more convenience and ease he had set up "runway lights." Blue, red and yellow shovels lined our path into the driveway as he motioned and directed us home. I was laughing so hard that I almost missed the clearly marked runway. I could not help but exert all of my energy into my abundant laughter, this was certainly a sight to see.
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