On Saturday afternoon, my willfulness and stubborness reached its choking point, and I decided that I would dig my car out of the snow.
It was parked about two blocks away from my house.
"Enoough," I grumbled in my best Type A voice, as I set out with two shovels and steely determination.
O.K.
It only took half an hour and some nifty raised-on-the-prairies-nothing's-gonna-stop-me driving, but I did it.
Of course. Always knew I would, so there. Ha!
Swung onto the ruts of the street, promptly turned right up the next street so that I could then turn back down to the main road and go about my terribly important business. (I had to return three videos to a store many K. away.)
In less than a third of the way up the second street, I stalled and stuck.
My '93 Mazda, trusty as it is, has a low undercarriage and I was basically riding the snow tracks.
More shovelling, help from a stranger who lived on the street and half an hour later, nothing.
O.K.
So I walked back towards my house, knowing that I had now effectively blocked a residential street entirely and that if I phoned BCAA and if I ever got through, the wait would be about five hours.
BUT...
What do I find in the alleyway just a moment later?
But an entire family digging our their van.
O.K.
So I'll help you dig if you'll help me push.
Done and done.
But just as we start to push my car back, another five or six people come along and join in the fun.
Missions accomplished.
After I returned the videos and got some groceries, I headed back to the hood.
My car is now parked on a busy thoroughfare. I am hoping that it isn't snowplowed in this morning.
It was lovely to see people helping each other in these maddening conditions.