During our most recent blast of winter, the loving husband was stuck in Minneapolis for his job. When the time came to remove the massive snow deposit in the driveway, the job fell into my petite and frail hands. On Friday morning April had to pick me up for work because my truck was snowed in. I shoveled a path out to the road, but that was all I accomplished. That evening I tried to shovel, but the gale-force winds got the best me. I yelled at the wind and stomped into the house. I forgot to mention, the loving husband wouldn’t tell me how to start the snow blower for fear I would start the garage on fire. Supposedly it’s rather temperamental. Saturday morning I hefted my heavy-duty Columbia ice-fishing boots out of storage and put them on. I braced myself for the inevitable. As I stepped outside, I came face to face with a thigh-high snowdrift in front of the garage. I grasped the trusty shovel and began to scoop. Being the fragile petite flower that I am, it was a back-breaking task. Fortunately I’d been lifting weights for the last three months, so my arms were a little beefier than usual. Still the snow was very heavy. When I got to the end of the driveway, the real nightmare began. I had a waist-high barricade of "plow snow" to beat into submission. For those who are unaware, there are two kinds of snow, sky-snow and plow-snow. Sky snow comes from above and falls to the ground. Plow snow is clumpy, heavy, icy snow that comes in the driveway when the plow goes by. Frankly, I didn’t need to take the truck anywhere, but there’s always that desperate need to be free. I attacked the snow with vigor. I finally got a width cleared exactly the same width as the pickup. I measured it. So I fired up the truck, backed out of the driveway and went downtown to get a cup of coffee. Did I have coffee in the coffee maker sitting on the kitchen counter? Yes, I did. But there was a principle involved: freedom. Five minutes after I left, I was back home. I retrieved the shovel and stood by my snow mountain in despair. By then my back hurt, my knees hurt, and my beefy arms hurt. I was pooped. Suddenly, and with great relief, I remembered: I had to plant the tomato seeds in my mini-indoor greenhouse. I had to do it NOW. Tomorrow was too late. I tossed the old shovel in the corner of the garage, put on my warm fuzzy slippers and began to garden. Some time went by and I looked out the front window to see if the plow-snow had melted. It hadn’t. Instead there were two incredibly vigorous men engaging in battle with the barricade. Melvin leveled the snow wall with his massive tractor and blade. Roger fired up his powerful snow blower and reduced the plow-snow to a fine powder that blew off into the yard. I was happy. An hour later, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky (the loving husband) drives up. Melvin, who is still doing the detail work on his driveway, yells out, "Well, you got home just in time!" I’m grateful to have such good neighbors. Thank you, Melvin and Roger, for rescuing a petite feminine flower in distress. The loving husband thanks you, too. Announcements: Don’t forget to visit the bus museum, "Behind Barbed Wire: Midwest POWs in Nazi Germany" from 3 to 7 p.m. Friday, March 25. The bus museum will be parked at the library. There is no charge to see this exhibit. Next Thursday, March 31, is the last day to turn in your reading log for the "Melt Away The Hours" adult reading program and pick up your prize.