This morning I have a four-foot snow drift blocking my front door. In fact, I cannot even open that door and will have to shovel myself out by getting outside from another door and shoveling toward my front door. On my porch, my covered porch that is, I have three-foot drifts of snow driven there by those winds that are now a hallmark of what the clever television-types are calling the "Holiday Blizzard."
It could be worse, though, and I know it. At least I am not one of the thousands of poor people stuck at Denver International Airport because they were trying to get home in time for the holiday. At least I'm not one of those poor schmoe reporters standing out in the snow telling us what we already know: that it is snowing. And at least I'm not a hassled and harried postal service worker who now has to condense yesterday's work into the few days left before Christmas.
There was no point shoveling yesterday because the wind would just blow back the snow. Since it is a holiday week there wasn't a whole lot of official CBS News business to conduct. There were no live sporting events to watch and, well, have you tried watching daytime television lately? There is only so much "team coverage" of a storm any one person can watch. So yesterday afternoon, while I was wishing and waiting for state officials to airlift some Jack Daniels to me as part of the emergency snow management order, I experienced that lyrical thing that Jimmy Buffett once sung about: cabin fever.
I called people I hadn't spoken to in ten years. I Googled old friends. I briefly watched a show on the Fitness Channel—who even knew there was a Fitness Channel? I went through a box of old business cards. Good lord, I even drank tea, listened to classical music, and tried to brood like Dr. Zhivago. Didn't work. The snow kept falling. Later, when the Jack Daniels somehow did not fall out of the sky, I switched to Paul McCartney and Wings (and of course that natural heating agent, Fresca). Nothing like hearing the song "Jet" to make you realize what's important in life.
I made it through the night and so did my house. A quick search of all rooms reveals that there are no snow drifts actually inside the four walls of my dwelling, which I take to be rockin' good news. Ahead today is shoveling. Plenty of shoveling. And perhaps more Fresca. And then tonight? Cue Paul and the Boys. Maybe I'll focus next on "Mull of Kintrye."