I love the snow. I do. Really.
I don't even mind shoveling ... much ... although, if wishes were fishes, I could do it in my own time ... whenver I wished ... or not at all, if that was my desire. And I'd never have to shovel that horrible, chewed up, hard-packed ice, sand and salt mound left behind by the snowplows, because ...
... if wishes were fishes, we'd have only one vehicle, and it would be a four-wheel drive, and we would just drive it over the snowplow bank and never have to shovel, because ...
... if wishes were fishes, both Deus Ex Machina and I would be sitting here in this room that is "our" office, and we'd be looking outside at the newest round of winter wonderland. I'd reach over and grab his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and he'd smile at me in his
If wishes were fishes, every day it snowed would be a "snow day", because both Deus Ex Machina and I would earn what money we needed/wanted working from home, and we wouldn't have to leave the house to go to work. We could enjoy the view from the coziness of our wood-warmed house, and later, we could grab our skis and head back into the woods with the girls and, after a brisk jaunt through the puffy, white landscape, return home to enjoy a cup of hot coffee or tea or hot chocolate, because, thanks to our careful planning and stocking up, we always have plenty of all three.
If wishes were fishes, we would dance to our own internal circadian rhythms instead of being forced to march to the beat of society's drum. So, when nature decides it's going to dump a half of a foot of snow on us over the course of about ten hours, and the natural thing to do is to stay where it's warm and dry, that's what we'd be doing. No one would be going out for something as trivial as earning a few dollars.
Unfortunately, on those days when I'm dreaming my version of the "good life", for all my wishing and wishing, the only flounder is me, trying to postpone the inevitable.
And back in the real-world, where wishes aren't granted by an Ish, who simply waves his hand over his dish and produces that proverbial fish, I put on my coat (or my pretty red sweater ... purchased second hand at the local Goodwill Store ;), grab a pair of gloves (because while I may not be cold enough for a coat, bare hands and snow do not go well together ;), and shovel out the end of the driveway so that when Deus Ex Machina comes home from work, he'll have a place to park his not four-wheel drive car.
And while I'm at the mundane task of digging out, I'm sending a telepathic postcard to Deus Ex Machina, stating simply wish you were here.