We woke up this morning to the 3rd morning of shoveling and/or cleaning off the cars. Sunday about 6 inches. Yesterday, 6 or so more. And today, another couple of inches.

I’m sore. I am feeling muscle ache where muscles don’t belong. I’ve lived in New England for the greater part of my life, so you’d think I’d know how to sling a shovel of snow. After all, experience is the greatest teacher…

BUT… I had a shoveling experience on Sunday morning that I’d never dreamed of having.

After digging out our cars and walkways and porches and rather long driveway, Barry and I headed to my mom’s senior citizen apartment complex to take her grocery shopping. My mom called me as we were on our way and said that she didn’t want to go out in the snow. It was still snowing a bit, but the day was so lovely and so crisp… so I convinced her that the fresh air and exercise would do wonders. She acquiesced. But as we drove up to the front steps of the complex, I noticed that the stairs and walkways had not been shoveled.

Hmmmm. I knew my mom could not trudge through 6-8 inches of snow, and, in any case, I wouldn’t want her to. Hmmmm again. Barry had a shovel in the back of his truck… situation resolved.

I got the shovel and began shoveling the ramp walkway as Barry circled the entrance to allow other cars to get in and out. I didn’t get two shovel-fulls cleared before a young man came up to me and said, “You shouldn’t be shoveling.”

I thought he meant because I’m a woman and all… and this is the responsibility of management and maintenance and all of that… but soon there were two young men telling me that I shouldn’t be shoveling. By then, I had half the ramp walkway cleared and I knew my mom would be at the door at any second. I said to the men in my nicest voice, “I am shoveling so my mom can get to my car. I really don’t mind.”

The truth is, I really didn’t mind. The snow was soft and easy to move, and I knew that not only my mom, but 400 other seniors may need to get out at some point during the morning as well. And as a matter of fact, the senior citizen bus pulled in at that moment and two elderly women could not maneuver through the snow to get down the stairs. I left my walkway job, headed to the stairs… and cleared a path for them. They were beyond appreciative.

Soon, several elderly people had gathered at the door to watch me shovel. One woman came outside and asked, rather loudly, “WHO ARE YOU, ANYWAY?” I explained who I was, who my mom is, and that I was clearing the walkway so she could go shopping with us. All the while, the two men who had questioned me in the first place were standing at the door looking very uncomfortable…

As I finished my new shoveling job, my mom appeared at the door. The first thing she said to me was, “So-and-so {head of maintenance} stopped me at the elevator and said you shouldn’t be shoveling…”

Now, to understand my mom, you must know that she is the ultimate rule follower. She never creates waves, if you get my drift (I had to throw that in). Me? I do what I think should be done at the moment it should be done. So as I gently held her arm and guided her down that lovely well-shoveled path, I explained the snow, the men, the dialogue, the bus, the women, the stairs…

Then I told her if anyone says anything to her, just say, “My daughter is very sorry. She was just trying to help me.” She agreed that this explanation would be OK for her. And off we went to a wonderful grocery shopping adventure on a glorious New England winter morning.

When we arrived back at the complex, all of the walkways had been shoveled and cleared. Barry and I carried in my mom’s bundles, and as I stepped off the 4th floor elevator, a group of women in the atrium area began to cheer, “THERE SHE IS! THE SHOVELER!” I had attained a somewhat celebrity status among those feisty elderly women… many whom, I’m sure, have seen a lot more in their days than a lone middle-aged woman continue shoveling in spite of the rules and regulations of the maintenance department. My mom smiled.

Now… of course I would never want to undermine anyone’s authority. But would I shovel again? Absolutely!

Even if my muscles are screaming, “No!” a couple of days later.  Can someone please pass me the Aleve!?