Last week we had yet another blizzard, which meant another day off from school and another mountain of snow to shovel out from under. Every single time I've shoveled snow this winter, I've thought about two things: 1.) This is why I never complained about the rain in Belgium; and 2.) If I ever buy another house in St. Paul, it will not be on a corner lot.
Last weekend I was thinking these exact same things as I shoveled the long sidewalk along the side of our property. It was a huge snowfall, and the plows were behind with clearing the streets. And seriously, all of us, snowplows and homeowners alike, are running out of places to put the snow. It is everywhere.
A car (minivan) turned onto our unplowed street and promptly got stuck. I did what any decent Minnesotan does when this happens: I went over and offered to push. I probably don't have to tell you that me pushing all by myself didn't do a whole heck of a lot (it was kind of a big minivan in a lot of snow). But within minutes, a college kid driving by stopped to lend a hand. Together we almost had it. Then, my neighbor walked by with his dog. We were so close, but the tires were slipping and spinning on all the new snow so I ran to my front porch, took two of our ten million flat empty boxes, and placed them under the tires where they were slipping. Viola! The car was free to go on her way (which turned out to be the closest available parking spot on the plowed side of the street.) I can tell you that it's not the first time I've pushed a stuck car out of a snowdrift, and I'm sure it won't be my last.
The whole incident reminded me of a snowy day in Belgium a few years ago.
Let me start by saying that the women in Belgium are among the most classy and sophisticated I have ever met. They are effortlessly fashion forward and I spent six years in quiet admiration. Throughout this whole time, on behalf of improving the image of Americans everywhere, I tried my best to rise to their level of style and grace.
On this particular day, I failed miserably.
It had snowed, and a tiny bit of snow in Belgium causes chaos and confusion. In fact, during our first snow storm back here in Minnesota, we left the house for school and the kids stared in amazement out the windows as our short drive to school took exactly the same amount of time as it always did.
"Mommy!" they said. "The cars are driving! In the snow!"
"Yes, I know," I answered. "It's Minnesota."
But I digress. Back to this particular snowy day in Belgium.
After a thirty minute (6 km) drive to school, I was dreading going back through traffic to get home. When I reached my car, I could see that a mom (who could have easily walked on a Paris runway as a model, except that she was probably too short and petite) was miserably stuck in her parking spot. She was driving (or rather, trying to drive) a Mini-Cooper. Her wheels were spinning hopelessly on the cobblestones. But I could see exactly where she was stuck. "Let me push," I suggested, (but in my not-so-great French.)
"Push?" she repeated, a look of horror on her face. "Umm…Oui" I answered, but my confidence faltered in seeing the look on her face. But at that point, it was too late not to try. Plus, I'm not the sort of girl that backs down from a challenge. But even though it was only a Mini, I couldn't push her out by myself. She got some tire-net, snow-things from her trunk and put them under the wheels. "These will help," she said. But I knew (from experience) that she had them in the wrong spot - behind the back wheels instead of the front. When I tried to explain, she shook her head in a very determined way (that the French are very good at) to say that I was wrong.
After which I could only shrug and let her try to figure it out on her own. I left that day feeling like I let my fellow Minnesotans down in the worst way: not being able to get a car unstuck from two inches of snow.
But last week, after the worst blizzard I've seen in a long time, and the minivan crunched over my boxes to freedom, I redeemed myself.
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