I am a pretty materialistic guy, I don’t mind announcing. I sit and read hardware store flyers on the weekends like others might bury their heads in War and Peace or Gone With the Wind. I begin to salivate at the appearance of a new catalogue in the house (and it doesn’t have to be Victoria’s Secret) and I’d rather window shop than sail the Mediterranean.
But there are a few things I have never wanted to own and looming largest in my mind among those is a snowblower. I can’t explain my aversion to these big, efficient marvels of modern technology which are adored so deeply by Canadians. It doesn’t make any sense as I love anything powered by a little motor. I dread the inevitable day when my self-propelled lawnmower – 28 years old and counting – dies a smoky death.
Maybe snowblowers scare me or maybe they’re too costly. I don’t know. But I do know that in the face of my snowblower prejudice, I need one, sometimes badly. I have more sidewalks than a shopping mall and a double wide driveway that can comfortably hold four big cars (if four big cars could be found nowadays).
During snowy days such as these, I feel like a one-man parks department.
But, I have another reason, I suppose, for not hauling a big snowblower home from the store. Four of my neighbours within just a few houses on all sides of me have snowblowers and they appear to be competing to see how many driveways up and down the street they can clean. They’re all men, of course, these mighty snow warriors, who bundle up like earthly astronauts (earthonauts, if you will).
Years ago, I solved a puzzle regarding these neighbours and things have been going my way pretty much ever since. I noticed that these guys seemed more eager to clean out a woman’s driveway than a man’s. They’d chug down the street past me on their way to a female neighbour, leaving me huffing and puffing with my little wee plastic shovel. They avoided eye contact with me and pretended, I’m assuming, not to notice me, though I stared right at them with come hither looks.
This went on for a few back-breaking years until I got married and one cold day realized that I could possibly make use of the fact that there was a woman living in my house all of a sudden. So, I don’t think it was a plan, but before long Barb ended up cleaning out the driveway. But not for long. The race would always be on to see which neighbour could get to our place first with his snowblower.
Because besides her snowblower-attracting gender, Barb is liked by everyone I know and a lot of people I don’t know. If there is anyone who doesn’t like her, they are probably deranged in some pitiful way. As for me, on a good day I could easily elicit a string of profanity from someone as holy as Pope Francis. Let’s just say I was born pissed off and have been getting steadily worse ever since.
So the snowblower dilemma seemed to be solved but a theory as important as this needed to be tested. Therefore, I ventured out a few more times with my shovel only to see the blowers blow right by me. I sent Barb out on the pretence that my back was hurting and voila! Snow was flying in every direction as though we had our very own personal blizzard, but in a good way.
These days, I hide behind the living room curtains and peek out to see that everything’s going according to plan and so far, so good.
During our marriage vows, I mumbled something about “till death do us part” but someday that might be changed to “till driveway do us part.” If we ever move to a part of the world that doesn’t get snow, I don’t know how this 24-year experiment will hold up. But if we’re in a neighbourhood with lots of men on riding lawnmowers, we might just make it all the way.
Especially if my mower goes up in smoke (while Barb is pushing it). And my back keeps bothering me.
©2014 Jim Hagarty
