When I purchased one-third of a snow blower this weekend, I found myself stumbling across yet another line, the division of “self” and “neighbor.” I’m already blurring the line between work and play, office and home, kids and grown-ups, fun and responsibility. Now my neighbors are sort of like business partners.
I was always against snow blowers in principle. They’re loud, they use gasoline, my kids are justifiably scared of them, and shoveling (when done properly) is both healthy and more precise. This particular model, with its monstrously orange snow-eating mouth and a weight of over 250 pounds, looks and feels too much like farm machinery than a household convenience. But when your neighbor approaches you with an idea — hey, let’s go in on one together, shall we? — and then it snows like crazy, how do you say no?
Generations ago, neighbors were automatically colleagues if not friends. Like college roommates today, homeowners and their families shared more than just a street or street corner; they shared their lives and their gossip. But soon our fences weren’t designed to keep only our animals in; they kept us in, too. Had you spoken with me only five years ago, I knew almost none of my neighbors — and remember, I work at home, so not getting to know my neighbors would be like an office worker throwing a tarp over his cubicle.
I immediately perceived an advantage, anyway. Because I don’t commute to an office, I don’t have to shovel and defrost at five a.m. I can hurl the minivan into the street, drop off the kids, and return home to manage snow at my convenience. So while my neighbors might compete for “blownership” first thing in the morning, I can use the machine whenever I want. But then I realized that my neighbor — the guy who had the idea in the first place — is a working dad-at-home, too.
It was also his idea to keep the snow blower in his back yard. With a tarp over it.