I pull on my boots. It is time for my least favorite part of winter, scraping snow off the car. I open the door and feel the damp cold trying to seep in, so I pull up the collar of my coat and, with a prayer to God that I don’t fall down, off I go into the gloom. There is a pale glow from a nearby streetlamp, and that will help me see what I’m doing, still I hesitate. I fell last winter and wrenched my back, was out of commission for about two weeks. I didn’t want that to happen again. I grab the snow shovel next to my front door. Thank goodness I had the foresight to place it there when I got the forecast for snow. I am not strong, and the shovel is big and awkward. Still, I press it into the base of the white stuff and push. Okay, there’s some snow pushed aside. I do it over and over until I reach the street and my car. I lean on the shovel and catch my breath. Hey, I didn’t fall, I thought. Good for me. I glance down and see my newspaper lying on the snow near my foot. I pick it up and stuff it inside my coat. I unlock the car, and pull the door open, but since it is iced shut it takes some effort. But I got it open and now I fish about inside for my scraper. It is a big affair, with long brushes on one end and a hard piece of plastic on the other end with a blade. I find it right away. First, I brush the snow off and then I use the blade to scrape the hardened snow and ice off of my windows and windshield. I do it gently at first, but then realize I’ve got to get my back into this. Oh, I wish I had a garage, I mutter to myself. Working quickly, I get the car cleaned off pretty well. In the old days, I would have just started my car and turned on the heat and walked away while my car defrosted itself. But those days are gone. An unattended, running car is an invitation to a thief, and I can’t afford to lose my car. Now that the job is done, I carefully pick my way back to the house, watching out for what’s below my feet. I don’t have to leave for another hour, and I am shivering and cold and want to thaw out.

I walk inside and take off my wet coat and gloves. I find that I am quite stiff in my joints, I am ready for a cup of tea to warm me up. Bonnie, my sweet dog, comes up and licks my hand. I get her a biscuit before I put on the kettle for me. I sit in my favorite kitchen chair and look outside. From the inside looking out, it is very beautiful on my street. Snow has covered all the tree branches and homes and cars. It is like a veritable wonderland. I hear the sound of the kettle whistling sweetly, and walk over to fix my tea, but suddenly I am falling! Oh no, oh no, it is happening so fast, and I try to grab onto the table, but I can’t and I land on my back and lay there, stunned. I continue to lay still, assessing the damage. I shrug my shoulders, and move my legs, but everything seems to be fine. Bonnie is very concerned, and is sitting by me, trying to lick my face, because Bonnie believes that will make it all better. I pat her, and push myself up, and manage to get onto my feet. The kettle is still whistling like an alarm bell. I walk over, pour the hot water into my cup and drop a tea bag into it. I think I am going to be alright. I see the cause of my fall, the little kitchen rug. I guess I tripped on it. Well, that’s got to go, I think, and fold it up and toss it down by the trash bin. I sit down with my tea, Bonnie by my side, and I have to laugh. I fell after all, but not at all in the way I expected.

This was written in response to the Pick 3 challenge, hosted by M. Oniker

Your inspiration for this week:

collar* mutter* stiff*
kettle* scrape* damp*
prayer* hesitate* pale*
boots * lean* awkwardly*
streetlamp* shiver* gently*
newspaper* press* suddenly*
biscuit* glance* below*

Pick 3 #7