Snowblowed

Our neighbors were not so neighborly in California. One called and reported us for parking in front of her house. For the record, it was public street parking! Open to all. The cop shrugged his shoulders and told us not to be offended…she’s called on others, so maybe just steer clear of that 12-foot space. Often we heard our next-door neighbor yelling at his girlfriend on the phone. And then there was the pervert across the street. The list goes on. Suffice it to say, we got used to watching our backs on our street and in L.A. in general.

When we moved back to Minnesota and settled into a cute rental house on a quiet cul-de-sac, we hoped our neighbors would be different. And they have not disappointed. They’ve been great. Which is why B was mortified when I decided to mow the lawn 8 months pregnant. What are they going to think of me?! Makin’ my prego wife cut the grass?! It’s also why he would have been mortified last week when I got Q down for his nap and decided to help out—shovel the driveway. Still in my red plaid pajama pants, I threw my boots on not caring whether the pjs went in or outside the boots. Live in Minnesota? You know the look. Pulled my hat down over my ears and zipped up my big warm coat. One cannot be vain in Minnesota when it’s 10 below and you have to shovel.

I stepped outside and one look at the driveway revealed that much more snow had fallen than I thought. At certain points, it was up to my knees. Nevertheless, I got to work, breathing in the crisp, sharp air to the rhythm of the shovel against pavement. A few minutes in, I was huffing and sweating and looking at our next-door neighbor—what with his fancy snow blower just easily and quickly clearing his driveway. Wow, he must feel like a tool I thought, self-righteously! Watching me do the hard work by hand! Really though, I was envious of the resources he had and I was also beginning to think that maybe our neighbors in California weren’t as bad as I remembered—at least they didn’t snow blow in front of me? I continued and a few neighbors drove by, waved. Well, I got half the driveway cleared. My back hurt, and I was nervous leaving Q in the house alone for too long. So I called it and hoped B would be impressed with that amount.

Late afternoon, I peeked out the front window to discover that—lo and behold—someone came and snow blowed the other half of our driveway. I was stunned. Kindness! We haven’t been used to this. I think it was more pity than anything. Someone saw this woman in raggedy pajama pants wielding a shovel bigger than her trying to clear snow.

When I called B to proudly tell him that I shoveled half the driveway and then Voila! ...that made someone feel bad and another Voila! ...now the whole driveway is clear for him, the first thing he said was “What?! Why were you out there?! What are the neighbors going to think of me?!”

We don’t know who did it though. And it’s not like we’re hanging outside right now, able to chit chat with the neighbors and ask around. I want to know so I can somehow repay them! Make them cookies. Send B over to shovel their driveway? Something?! But that’s the beauty of true kindness. It’s done quietly with no intention, sometimes no possibility, of repayment. And funny, I want to repay the person who did this, which would be nice, but in a twisted way it would somehow glorify me and make me look like a fancy-nice, thoughtful neighbor. True kindness humbles and inspires the receiver, leaving them no option but to do the same for another.