Shoveling Out During the Big Melt

My apologies to Colorado meteorologists for doubting their accuracy. Winter storm Xylia delivered Denver's fourth largest snowfall and left tens of thousands of people without power, as well as many stranded on roadways. Despite arriving a day late, the storm dumped over 27 inches on our city and more in the surrounding areas. On Sunday morning, when the rate of snowfall was greatest, it felt as if we might be buried alive. 

Aden and I went out to snowshoe on Sunday afternoon when the wind and snow had died down, braving the slap of wind and stinging snowflakes to the face in order to tramp through our white greenbelts. Unsurprisingly, we saw three other sets of people out on snowshoes and a handful of folks walking their dogs. This is an adventurous neighborhood where no one stays cooped-up for long. Upon our exhausted return we tried to shovel the walkway to our front door and remove over a foot of snow from the cars parked in our driveway.

Yesterday, "the day after" or "the big melt" depending on who you read, saw neighbors out in force to dig out vehicles and clear driveways. In our family, we tag-teamed shifts with the shovel; wet snow weighs a ton and Rob and I aren't spring chickens. We should have sprayed the shovels with Pam or other cooking oil to keep them slick, but instead resorted to banging them against the nearest tree to dislodge snow, thereby releasing heaps of snow onto our head and shoulders. The brilliant sunshine reflected off high drifts, made us blink like startled owls, and the birds sang their delight at clear skies.

This morning I have a hard time lifting my arms above shoulder height and my back is telegraphing unkind messages. Rob slipped on ice toward the end of the day and fell, landing in a frigid puddle and worrying his bad knee, but he seems unharmed this morning, or at least unwilling to discuss his shoveling injuries. Last night I confessed to him that shoveling out was more than just physically difficult, it was emotionally tricky to let go of our family-full three days of sheltering at home. 

Shoveling out after a storm is like going back to old routines after isolating and distancing during the pandemic. Though I miss our comings and goings, resuming our normal calendar means saying goodbye to Aden, heading back to the grocery store, and picking up with our modified rat race of activities. I need some psychological equivalent to cooking spray to grease my mental shovel and clear my way through the blockade of pandemic restrictions and forward to our new life.