Thankfully I
am physically fit. In my 53rd
year, however, shoveling snow has lost the last threads of any luster it may
have momentarily held.
I fall into
the category of fairly handy as well. My
neighbor to the right, a couple of years older, meets the benchmark of being
expertly skilled with tools and craftsmanship.
Even so, sometimes snags with tasks can occur that can slow us down
tremendously.
A few years
ago during a winter storm both of us headed to our garages to fire up our snow
blowers. Simultaneously we discovered
that our gas was stale, our carburetors were gummed up and changing the spark
plugs or adding doses of starting fluid was of no help. We were quite peeved that we had to hand shovel
more than a foot of snow that was lining two driveways, yards and sidewalks.
So each year
now I attend to my aging apparatus in the fall for a light tune-up, a test run
and a self certified seal of inspection.
Then I cross my fingers of course.
Especially
crossed because I know there are many days and weeks that traverse the calendar
between mid October and mid February while my machine may sit idle. Enough time in fact to cause me to break out
into an easily recognizable case of throttle anxiety as I await the real test
imposed by a big drop in barometric pressure and blizzard conditions.
Fair lady
certainly sensed my fear today as I unsuccessfully tip-toed back to our bedroom
to grab a pair of warm socks while interrupting her last few minutes of
dreams.
I hope you
don’t plan on making noise outside before 9 o’clock, on a SATURDAY, was her
phrasing.
The new guy diagonally
across the street already blew out his whole driveway was my informed response
at 7:45 am.
Yes, and
that was totally annoying came the retort.
Anxiety
often gains the upper hand though. Rules
or no rules I couldn’t wait until the late hour of 9am to learn my fate. I suited up for go time.
My elderly
neighbor to the left is a woodsman. He
spends much time traveling in the far North Country and has planted evergreen tree
saplings in his yard that have grown to dwarf the surrounding homes and
yards. Even in the dead of winter there
is enough wildlife nesting up in his sanctuary that most days our awakenings
are timed to a Cardinal or Blue Jay happily plucking a berry, seed or nut and then
making a flyover outside of our hallway window.
Some days a squirrel will miss a step from high above and slide down our
shingles.
This morning
was different. Time for change I suppose. At precisely 8:05 am Eastern Standard Time I
poured a half gallon of fresh gasoline into my cold and inactive assistant in
the hopes of bringing it to life. I
carefully primed the engine with nine pumps, as a friend of mine who is into
Feng shui recently clued me into the goodness of nines.
I backed
off, adjusted the choke to a spot I felt lucky, and moved the red lever to the
on position. I clumsily stood behind the
rear bar and yanked the pull cord while my feet wobbled on a patch of ice. The rope snapped back sooner than I preferred
and for a split second I felt doomed...visions of ice picks circled my dizzying
head. Then suddenly and magically my
world changed.
As if the engine
was briefly shaken by the same patch of ice, it vibrated and transformed itself
from a near stall out sounding tremor to being all revved up and then it spewed
out an ironically large, healthy puff of smoke from the exhaust. The start held. It was solid.
I was not feeling doomed. I felt
great.
No Cardinals,
Blue Jays, transplanted Orioles or falling squirrels would beat me to it
now. The rest of the block was to be
awakened by my uncontrollable and glorious reaction as I proclaimed it across
the driveway drifts, ‘FIRST PULL BABY…F-I-R-S-T P-U-L-L'.
© 2013
Christopher’s Views
