I find that I clear the snow out of my driveway the way I paint. I find this both weird, but at the same time, strangely reassuring.

When it didn’t snow in Newburyport, MA, what seems like every three to four days, and only snowed now and then, or some Newburyport winters not even at all, I never even noticed a pattern of snow driveway removal by moi.

Now when it snows in Newburyport, MA, I’m starting to go into auto pilot.

First I talk to the snow, “What you again?” “What is it this time? A few cute snowflakes mixed it with a dash of drizzly icy rain?” I might say to the stuff that’s falling or already landed.

It’s the first thing I do when I walk into my Newburyport studio in the morning. I talk to my paintings. “How are we do’n today?” “You look a whole lot better than you did last night.” That sort of thing.

The next thing I do is tackle the big snow picture. No details here. Only unlike painting, with snow, I have help. I have count’em, two neighbors with snow-blowers. God bless them.

So, I always hope that my Newburyport neighbors will actually tackle the big snow picture, before I get out there with my trusty shovel.

And then comes the details, just like in painting. I clean up the edges of the driveway, clear a path to the fire hydrant, make sure there is a nifty clearing to the storage shed. Oh, yes, and make sure the top of the car has no snow.

I learned the hard way, during one Newburyport winter from hell, the snow on the top of my car turned to ice, because I figured, who cares it can stay. But it fell forward in a block and dented my hood. Showed me. Now that snow is the first to go. Not going to make that mistake again.

And then the roof-rake. I’m starting to get real obsessive here, just like with my Newburyport paintings. I’ve offered my neighbor the use of my trusty roof-rake, but, their tool of choice is definitely the very efficient snow-blower. And who could possibly blame them.

And then the driveway and I have a major chat. “I want to see pavement,” I say, “No ice, no white stuff, no trampled snow. I want my mail person to have a nice stroll to the mail box, when they deliver the mail. Hear me?” I say this very quietly, so my neighbors don’t hear me talking to my Newburyport driveway.

And then, yes, I get out the dainty, but slightly beaten up broom at the end, just the way I end up using tiny little #000 brushes on my paintings. But I’m not painting gorgeous pictures containing green stuff and warm weather, I’m longing for green stuff and warm weather instead.