Here is my Weber kettle sitting on the patio, right where it’s been all summer, all autumn, all winter.
It’s not that I’m lazy. I don’t mind shoveling snow. I’ve got it down to a routine going up and down the steps and along the sidewalk and across the driveway and up again. But bringing the kettle inside? Forget it. Neither hail, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night will get me to do it. The kettle is big, it’s awkward, one of the legs falls off, and the door to where I store it doesn’t like to stay open. So even though moving it takes a lot less time than shoveling snow, the kettle doesn’t move until it has to.
Now it has to. It’s exactly where the snow piles up as it accumulates. If I leave it there, it might disappear under the snow. It might not reappear in the spring. Then what would I haul out to the patio, cursing and struggling to keep the door open and the legs on?
Writing Every Day 