New Englanders will long remember the winter of 2015. The 110 inches of snowfall set a new record in Boston and brought public transportation to a standstill. Where I live on Cape Cod, snowfall followed snowfall, with no melting in between, and by early March my driveway looked like a luge track, with shoulder-high snow banks on either side of the barely five-foot-wide channel my husband and I had struggled to keep clear and passable. Getting from the garage to the road required perfect alignment between the walls of ice and last minute courage to let it rip over the frozen mound left by the snowplow.
On a return trip from stocking up on groceries before the next storm, I miscalculated my approach to the cramped entrance and wedged the right side of the car against the nature-made jersey barrier, leaving me stuck halfway in and out of the driveway. I got a shovel and started to chip away at the ice but each scoop yielded barely enough to fill a glass. My efforts were futile, but I kept at it. I didn’t know what else to do.
A pickup truck stopped behind my car and a short, stocky man in his mid-forties, who I knew only as someone who lived at the end of my street, got out and zipped up his fleece-lined sweatshirt and put a black wool cap on his balding head. “Cut the corner a little too sharp, huh?” he said. I didn’t have to ask him for help—the pitiful look on my face was enough.
First he tried to push me out, but that didn’t work because the thick ice in front of my car made it impossible for him to get a solid footing. Then he got a rope from his truck and tied it to my back bumper and on the third try was able to pull me back out into the road where three younger guys he knew had stopped their pickups to watch the show.
He seemed proud of his accomplishment and there was a little bounce in his step as he acknowledged nods of approval from the onlookers.
I asked him if he would pull my car into the driveway so I wouldn’t get hung up again and instead of answering he turned his back to me and busied himself by throwing the tow line back in the bed of his truck and repositioning it several times. When he finally turned around, he eyed my Prius warily and confessed, “I don’t know how to drive these electric things.” He looked as flustered as I had been before he arrived.
Now the tables were turned and I was the one in charge. “It’s easy,” I assured him. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do.” I showed him how to start the car by placing his foot on the brake and pushing the ignition button. The car was so quiet he didn’t think it was running and I had to tell him that it was and he could go ahead.
He drove as far as the garage door and I followed him on foot. “How do you turn this damn thing off?” he said. “There’s no key!” I explained that all he had to do was to press the button again. As long as the key was inside the car—it was in my purse on the passenger seat—pressing the button was all you needed to do.
I asked his name and tried to thank him again, but he waved his hand to brush my gratitude aside and seemed anxious to leave. As I watched him slouch back toward his truck, I felt bad. He’d done me a big favor, been a hero in the eyes of his friends, and then I’d gone and ruined it for him.
But when he reached the point in the driveway where I have gotten stuck, he turned around and straightened up and called back to me, “Your driveway opening is too narrow—you need to dig it out!”
As the power shifted back in his direction, I got defensive. “Hey, I’m seventy years old!” I shouted back.
I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth. I was using my age as an excuse the same way thirty years ago I’d used a charming smile and super sweet voice to talk my way out of a ticket when I got pulled over by a police officer.
I had thought that once I reached middle age and stopped relying on feminine wiles, I had become an empowered, independent woman, but now, in the prime of my adulthood, I heard myself pulling out a new ploy—being a helpless old lady!
Fortunately my neighbor wouldn’t let me get away with it. His parting shot denied my request for an age-based dispensation and put me on the same level with everyone else.
“You live on Cape Cod, Lady,” he snapped. “Suck it up.”
I thought it was a lovely thing to say.
Great story I think we could all use a little sucking it up in our lives.
Beats complaining!
It’s a good piece and a good read, Beverly; this could easily be on the back page of the Boston globe Sunday magazine.
Sounds like you’ll be writing. I write too. It’s a mud wrestling joy!
Best wishes!
Dear KJ
You’re a writer who knows how to latch on to a great metaphor…”mud wrestling joy” will stay with me. A comment like yours makes all the work of creating, rewriting and editing worthwhile.
Thank you, Bev
Hi Bev,
Took a few minutes today to treat myself to your story. Enjoyed every bit of it!
Hope it motivates you! Bev
Bev,, I’m so happy you’re sharing your writing publicly again — it was such a pleasure to read this terrific piece. Love the title and message. Welcome back.
It’s nice to be back with a subject that’s wide open and for my return to be welcomed so graciously. Thank you.
Hi Bev, It seems to me that the winters on Cape Cod are bringing more snow than years ago. Is that true ? Anyway, I’m heading toward my 80th birthday and I pretty much enjoy using the snow blower on our 700′ driveway, but we had a few times in past winters where I had to hire a neighbor to use his truck and plow to clear 18 plus inches of snow. This winter hasn’t delivered as much snow as in other years, but I’m still ready for spring and I bet you are also. Regarding “Suck it Up” I enjoyed your story and we’ll have to continue doing it until we die.
Hi Tom,
Thank you for commenting on “Suck it Up” and winter in general. I grateful that I can still shovel at 71 and that I did less of it this year.
Great story, Beverly! I enjoyed it very much. A good reminder, too, that soon, traveling to work in Wellfleet every day will be hampered once again by a snowfall of another kind. Just as I was gearing up to write about that… 🙂
Hi Kate,
For everything there is a season…and here’s one is quiet (like falling snow) and the other is crowded!
Loved the story Bev. I could so relate to the luge effect of the driveway and the predicament and exasperation of getting stuck in the snow plow’s wake! Loved your sense of humor! We do have choices of how to respond!!!
There’s nothing better than the choice to laugh at ourselves, particularly when we back up and hit a tree!
How wonderful it was to get your newsletter in my inbox! As always it was funny and full of insightful wisdom. So glad to have you back!
Just got your blog post
What a great story “Suck it Up”
I love the slice of life essay
Great twist at the end with the insight about power shifting
Really enjoyed it
I liked the twists and turns in the small space between the road and your garage! Sucking it up, yes, and also being open to help and claiming your age all at the same time. I look forward to reading many more entries, Bev!
Thank you Hilary for appreciating how much a small event has to offer and for your enthusiastic readership!