This winter is aging me rapidly by Emmet Meara Lyrics
I give up. I now consider myself old, if not elderly.
It is mostly because of all this damn snow. Living at Cobb Manor these days is like living in one of those old snow balls that you would shake to make it snow. You don’t have to shake anything this year to make it snow.
Since Cobb Manor was established by international treaty more than 30 years ago, it has lovingly adopted the “Ram-in, Ram-out” method of driveway parking. It was created with former Roomie Grady. When it snows the idea is to ram into the driveway as hard as you can, without hitting the house. Once you are in, you back up, and then go forward to establish your personal tracks. Of course the second person in would have to be a little more careful to avoid ramming the previous parker.
Most winters in Camden provided so little snow that the Snow Bowl ski area had to close for half the season. The “Ram-in, Ram-out” worked perfectly well. People who hired plowmen (or women) were considered effete and pretty much, old. We were young (well, she was) and we didn’t need any plow.
Of course this did present some problems when people came to visit during the winter months. Actually, neither of us cared so much for our assembled friends and we could meet them somewhere else if we had to. But the snow always melted within a few days (honest) and we went back to our hum-drum, unplowed lives.
That is ancient history. Now it snows every three days and it never goes away. The last storm took my storm door and half the railing coming into Cobb Manor.
On Saturday, I tried the “Ram-out” part of the strategy because there was not that much snow at the end of the driveway. As a skilled practitioner I drove back and forth to create a solid track in the driveway. Then, I slammed backward into the piles…and stopped. I got the back tires free, but of course the Honda Accord has front wheel drive. I was high and dry, an obvious flaw in the “Ram-out” part of the formula.
I confess that after a few years with my Mighty (four-wheel drive) Tundra, I thought I would never get stuck again. When it began to cost $100 to fill the mighty beast, I sold it to Vermont Jon, in favor of this “Low riding” Honda. The Tundra is now vacationing in South Carolina with Vermont Jon and is having much more fun than I am.
High, dry and embarrassed, I tried the age old “rocking” formula to get out of the driveway. I only succeeded in turning the snow under the tires into solid ice. I was late for Besaw’s 90th birthday and was anxious to get going. If you know Maine, you know that someone driving by is going to stop, with a shovel. This Good Samaritan (never got his name) started shoveling, and then put shingles, rock salt and wood pieces under the stubborn tires. I rocked the car back and forth a quarter inch, to no avail. We must have been out there for an hour with me falling left and right, trying to retrieve the shingles and rock salt.
Nothing.
It occurred to me that I pay AAA every year and never use it, except when I locked myself out of the car in Buffalo. Yes, Buffalo. Exasperated I called for roadside service. When I went back to the driveway, John, the neighbor had crossed the street. John and his sons dutifully shovel their driveway after each storm and must watch with amusement at the carnival across the street. With a wry smile, he ordered his sons to assemble at the front of the stranded Honda. A combination of the shingles, rock salt and boards, John and his sons with the Good Samaritan pushed the stranded Honda into the street and freedom.
I hustled into the house to cancel that AAA call, just as the monster truck made the corner onto Cobb Road. I sheepishly apologized to the truck driver.
As the AAA guy drove off, Deacon and his plow came by and asked if I needed the driveway cleared. I caved in. Yes, I wanted it plowed not only today but every future storm over three inches.
“Ram-in, Ram-out” was dead. I am now an elderly (hate that word) man and need all the help I can get.
I wonder if I could get “Meals on Wheels.”
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.
It is mostly because of all this damn snow. Living at Cobb Manor these days is like living in one of those old snow balls that you would shake to make it snow. You don’t have to shake anything this year to make it snow.
Since Cobb Manor was established by international treaty more than 30 years ago, it has lovingly adopted the “Ram-in, Ram-out” method of driveway parking. It was created with former Roomie Grady. When it snows the idea is to ram into the driveway as hard as you can, without hitting the house. Once you are in, you back up, and then go forward to establish your personal tracks. Of course the second person in would have to be a little more careful to avoid ramming the previous parker.
Most winters in Camden provided so little snow that the Snow Bowl ski area had to close for half the season. The “Ram-in, Ram-out” worked perfectly well. People who hired plowmen (or women) were considered effete and pretty much, old. We were young (well, she was) and we didn’t need any plow.
Of course this did present some problems when people came to visit during the winter months. Actually, neither of us cared so much for our assembled friends and we could meet them somewhere else if we had to. But the snow always melted within a few days (honest) and we went back to our hum-drum, unplowed lives.
That is ancient history. Now it snows every three days and it never goes away. The last storm took my storm door and half the railing coming into Cobb Manor.
On Saturday, I tried the “Ram-out” part of the strategy because there was not that much snow at the end of the driveway. As a skilled practitioner I drove back and forth to create a solid track in the driveway. Then, I slammed backward into the piles…and stopped. I got the back tires free, but of course the Honda Accord has front wheel drive. I was high and dry, an obvious flaw in the “Ram-out” part of the formula.
I confess that after a few years with my Mighty (four-wheel drive) Tundra, I thought I would never get stuck again. When it began to cost $100 to fill the mighty beast, I sold it to Vermont Jon, in favor of this “Low riding” Honda. The Tundra is now vacationing in South Carolina with Vermont Jon and is having much more fun than I am.
High, dry and embarrassed, I tried the age old “rocking” formula to get out of the driveway. I only succeeded in turning the snow under the tires into solid ice. I was late for Besaw’s 90th birthday and was anxious to get going. If you know Maine, you know that someone driving by is going to stop, with a shovel. This Good Samaritan (never got his name) started shoveling, and then put shingles, rock salt and wood pieces under the stubborn tires. I rocked the car back and forth a quarter inch, to no avail. We must have been out there for an hour with me falling left and right, trying to retrieve the shingles and rock salt.
Nothing.
It occurred to me that I pay AAA every year and never use it, except when I locked myself out of the car in Buffalo. Yes, Buffalo. Exasperated I called for roadside service. When I went back to the driveway, John, the neighbor had crossed the street. John and his sons dutifully shovel their driveway after each storm and must watch with amusement at the carnival across the street. With a wry smile, he ordered his sons to assemble at the front of the stranded Honda. A combination of the shingles, rock salt and boards, John and his sons with the Good Samaritan pushed the stranded Honda into the street and freedom.
I hustled into the house to cancel that AAA call, just as the monster truck made the corner onto Cobb Road. I sheepishly apologized to the truck driver.
As the AAA guy drove off, Deacon and his plow came by and asked if I needed the driveway cleared. I caved in. Yes, I wanted it plowed not only today but every future storm over three inches.
“Ram-in, Ram-out” was dead. I am now an elderly (hate that word) man and need all the help I can get.
I wonder if I could get “Meals on Wheels.”
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.