“Wisdom comes with winters.” — Oscar Wilde

We're getting our first deep freeze of the year. The last time we were over 32F was January 3rd, and the next time we'll be above 20F is over 2 weeks from now.
So cold.
Our first big snow was Tuesday and it was heavy. Every year for 20 plus years I have moved inches/feet of snow from my driveway and walkways to the yard thinking, I should get a snowblower.
It's not like it's a big purchase. The recommended model is $1200-1500 and once or twice a year, for a few hours, would make my life easier.
The issue is this. I kind of like shoveling.
Like mowing, it's one of my activities of modern living with a definite beginning and end. Plus, it makes me feel like I've done something without taking the easy way out. Like my ancestors might have done. I can imagine my people, living up in the mountains of Colorado, waking up to 20 inches of snow, grabbing the shovel, and getting after it. No excuses. Just do it.
In my mind I am conversing with my mother's mother's mother. She emerges from a mist. Her hair in an old-timey bun, her face like a wrinkled apple. I'm telling her what her great-great-grandson is up to on this chilly morning. I explain my reasoning but notice she has a puzzled look on her face.
"You have a machine that will do work for you?" she said.
Yes, but I'm getting a workout and enjoying being outside, I said.
She pulls her shawl closer to her body, shakes her head, and turns away from me. "Idiota," I hear her say, as the mist engulfs her.
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