And thinking about death, as I am wont to do.
Note: I don’t think of death while mowing the lawn.
Note: I don’t fear having a heart attack because I’m shoveling snow.
I suspect this mordancy has something to do with my ancestry.
My great great uncle had to dig graves in the snow. That’s how it was in old Finland.
Don’t kid yourself, muscle memory will bring back your great great uncle very quickly.
I also thought about Thomas Paine. Today is his birthday. I wondered how many of my neighbors have read “Common Sense”.
Poor Thomas Paine: the writer most responsible for the American Revolution—but only xic people attended his funeral because he was an open critic of Christianity.
Thomas Paine. My kind of guy.
“Ph well,” I thought. “At least there’s plenty of snow to go around.”
For some reason I thought this was particularly funny.
Snow irony. A gift from my great great uncle.
Planet of the Blind 