Monday evening I tweeted how having a husband meant never (rarely) having to shovel.
Why?
Because he came with a snowblower — and he enjoys using it.
Before I was hitched, I lived on my own in a house over in Guilderland. The road was a dead end and, as a result, not as wide as your average street.
When the town plow came down, they’d push 80 percent of the slop to the right side (naturally) leaving those of us on the east side of the street with a heap of crunchy, crusty, icy, hardened snirt to dig out. No matter how many different types of shovels I bought, none were enough to tackle what felt like a pile of concrete at the end of my driveway. Even my neighbors who had snowblowers struggled. Continue reading