Next year, I promise, a snowblower

Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss.

Scrape.

Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss.

Scrape.

Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss.

Scrape.

This was my world for two and a half hours beginning at 6:30 a.m. today. The morning scene in our Mount Prospect neighborhood was quiet and deceptively blissful as daylight dawned and my wife Patty and I forged into snowdrifts that had completely covered at least two of the cars in our driveway.

We took some pictures. We wondered aloud about the quality of the roads we would have to take to our jobs. Both of us live close to our offices, but given the two and a half feet of snow in our driveway and still covering the street in front of our house, we weren’t confident about the prospect of driving even three miles.

But, in the famous words of Chief Dan George in “The Outlaw Josey Wales,” we endeavored to persevere. We began.

“One shovel at a time,” I said.

“Profound,” she said.

Now, at 9 a.m. our cars are started. Another inch of snow has fallen on the driveway we’ve already cleared.

Neighbors are beginning to wander out of their houses and “endeavor to persevere” in their own drives and walkways. My teenage son stands staring across the street, mouth agape.

“What’s the matter,” I ask.

“He just made one pass with that snowblower and look.”

Our neighbor across the street has in less than two minutes cleared a swath in his driveway three feet wide and twenty feet long. It took Patty and me half an hour to move that much snow.

Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss. Swoosh. Toss.

Scrape.

One shovel at a time.

Next year I’m getting a snowblower.

And this time, I mean it.