A Journey of 1000 Inches Begins with a Single Gas-Pedal Goose

My mom. I think I'll weep for her.

Mom has not been out of her house since the big snow last Tuesday. Today marks nine days, with only the briefest of escapes when I took her for a drive to the Dollar Tree on Sunday morning. I will commend Mom for trying. She asked me to come park on the road and watch her try to back her Blazer out of the garage and up the driveway. I did what any good seven-dollar daughter would do, and headed by McDonald's to pick up a Diet Coke and some grilled onion cheddar burgers for the shut-in.

Yes, Mom gave it the old night-college try. She backed out, partway up the drive, then started to slip. That was her clue to stop. Then try to back some more. Which is not really proper 4WD backing etiquette. It set her to spinning more. She couldn't even get her tires over into the path dug by her neighbor. Mom gave it about five attempts, then called it a day. I could see she was disappointed. That's when I told her to forget it and lock up her house and come for a ride. I said I would try to get the car out, but Mom declined.

Mom has been hanging onto the promises of the TV meteorologists every night. Each morning she rises with hope springing eternal, positive her driveway is going to melt. Yesterday, my sister the ex-mayor's wife and her daughter dropped by with the baby. Let the record show that they parked in the driveway. Did they offer to get her Blazer out of the driveway so she could run to town? No. Did they offer to take her to the bank to cash her little checks that are burning a hole in her business-size yellow safe? No. All they brought was a BABY! A month-old baby is no help with getting a car out of a snowy driveway. What they were thinking is beyoooooond me.

I told Mom I would come by after school today and take her to the bank. "Oh, no. I don't really have to get out. Besides, the temperature is going to be almost thirty. I'm sure I will be able to get out today."

On my way home, I called. "Did you get out of your driveway, Mom?"

"No. I got all the way to the top, but my tire was stuck on that deep part where the road was plowed. I even dug a hole in the gravel with my other tire, the one in the cleared path. I threw rocks all over the place. But I couldn't get out. Tomorrow it's supposed to be in the thirties. I'm going to take some soil out of my plants and put it on that patch of snow. It's dark. That will make it melt, like when I put ashes on the other part of the driveway."

"Mom. You might make mud. And your ashes probably got smushed down in when Sis parked there in the driveway. I'll come by after school tomorrow. The Pony has an academic meet, so I'll be by myself."

"You do too much for me. Don't worry. I don't HAVE to get out. I'm sure I'll be able to with my dirt."

"Have you tried salt? That's what most people use to melt their ice."

"Salt? I never thought of that!"

Seriously. By the time this quest is over, it's likely that Admiral Peary's expedition to the North Pole required less planning, time, and resources than what Mom is devoting to her unfortunate nature-forced incarceration.