Even though we live in the Midwest, and we know we're going to eventually have snow, it's as though it was our first time this year to experience the white stuff.
I'm guilty of this maniac behavior, making a trip to the grocery store as soon as the meteorologists start talking about snow, filling up the gas tank and preparing to hunker down for the impending storm – and I love every minute of it.
There's something magical about looking across the acreage blanketed with unblemished snow although that also includes an 800-foot driveway I tend to plow through. Instead of waiting for my boyfriend to make a drivable path with the Bobcat, he knows from past incidents, I will assume my car can blast through larger-than-life snowdrifts. My philosophy of "I ain't afraid of no snow" has caused me to pay more than a few tow bills in my lifetime.
Now that I'm older and wiser, I only experiment with my snow driving abilities closer to home or at the least, near the Bobcat driving boyfriend who begins preparing for my arrival with tow chains, shovels and a lot of patience.
He's fairly finicky about keeping his garage and yard in order and I understand and appreciate that, as I'm that way about the kitchen. I have damaged several items in the garage, but in my defense, I spend more time in his "area" than he ever does in mine.
After accidentally running into the shelves that hold his fishing gear, he hung a tennis ball from the ceiling of the garage so I know where to park and when to stop.
When "accidents" happen he rarely says anything but will immediately begin figuring out how to keep me from doing it again. I can't say I blame him, but then again, accidents do happen.
He called with specific instructions and when he's really adamant I listen, and he'll go through the information several times. Five times he repeated, "don't get stuck in the snow that is piled in the grass by the garage." Which means, don't spin out and tear up my yard.
When I arrived, he was sitting at the end of the driveway, in his Bobcat. With the snow falling as quickly as it could be moved, he wasn't taking any chances. I followed him up the drive and then received more instructions.
"Back your car into the garage so you can get out easier." Easy enough. I swung the car around and headed for the garage although I couldn't see the dangling tennis ball to guide me in. With confidence, I pushed the pedal to the metal and landed in the middle of the front yard. I spun my tires, tore up the yard and finally parked the car in the garage.
Page 2 of 2 - By the time I got out all I could see were a set of blue blaring eyes staring at me through a face mask, as he sat on his bobcat with snow swirling and the wind howling. I thought I had come face to face with the abominable snowman.
Thank goodness it was only Frosty, the jolly happy soul, who puts up with me and my accidents.
Sandy Turner lives in the Kansas City area and writes this column for GateHouse Media.