I'm supposed to be at my watercolor class right now...but I'm not there.
Want to guess why?
No, that's not it.
Nope--that's not it either!
I'll give you a hint--I think I might have frostbite in my right hand and both feet.
If you guessed "You were outside in the sub-zero wind chill, knee-high in the snow trying to saw out a newspaper that was wedged inside the snowblower" you're a winner!
That's right, I was getting ready to head out to my class and Don wanted to give the driveway a "quick blow" (because it NEVER stops snowing here and I don't think it ever will!!). A few minutes later, he came back in all crazy-like saying that he needed help. So I put on my furry coat and my Ugg boots and went out to assist.
The stupid newspaper (which I couldn't find this morning because it was buried in snow) had been sucked up by the blower and, instead of being shredded by the blade, managed to totally lodge between the blade and the side of the machine preventing the blade from moving.
Don was furious that his blowing had been interrupted and was swearing and clawing at the newspaper. This paper was wedged so tightly that it absolutely wouldn't budge and the addition of the moisture from the snow had melded it into a hard, almost brick-like consistency.
Since clawing and tugging wasn't working, Don got a screwdriver and tried repeatedly stabbing at it. Periods of stabbing were followed by turning the engine back on to see if the blades would start turning again.
Did I mention that it's sub-zero here?
Then I had the brilliant (?) idea of getting a saw and trying to shred up the paper that way. So we spent the next hour or so taking turns hunching over and sawing at the snowblower. Meanwhile, Don said the "F word" about ten thousand times.
At one point, Don threatened to "burn the paper away" which I was immediately opposed to, but he went in and got some matches anyway. Before he even thought it through, he lit a match and started bringing it towards the paper, but I screamed at the top of my lungs because the snowblower just reeks of gasoline and it probably would have gone off like a bomb if the paper had started burning. I shudder to think...
I also shudder to think what the neighbors must think if they saw--or even heard--us out there. The screaming and the swearing and the sawing! Oh my!
So we continued with the sawing and the stabbing until all the visible parts of the paper were gone. But it was still hopelessly stuck.
Tomorrow I'm going to call a blower repair place--which is probably what we should have done in the first place.
Meanwhile, I'm typing this with my left hand and my resolutions are all screwed up!