As the crankshaft turns, the piston descends in the bore. Its downward motion creates a vacuum behind it drawing in fresh air through the carburetor. The fresh air is mixed with fuel at a ratio of about 14.7 to 1. This is stoichiometrically or scientifically correct for gasoline at idle, but in reality requires a little bit more fuel at all other engine loads for best power. The mixture is compressed, ignited, and burned to create downward force on the piston and thus motive power.

The spent exhaust gasses chuff out of my snowblower’s muffler into the freezing snowstorm air. The haze around me reminiscent of the air at a night club concert; poisonous to my heart and my cardiologist has warned me not to linger in it. I’m a bit too close as I kneel down to clear some driveway rocks. They risk damage to the snowblower, and I don’t need to be so foolhardy.

My hearing is protected from the rasp of small engine noise by my earbuds, yet I pound my eardrums with the mellifluous sound of Skillet. I’m not in my driveway, I’m in the neighbor’s. I’ve been fortunate to live next to him for many years. He’s active and healthy, but retired. I figure he’s worked his tail off for his lifetime, wouldn’t it be nice to be retired and look out the window and say, “Hey, the neighbor kid just cleared away the snowbank. I can get out in an emergency and the heavy stuff won’t freeze at the end near the street.”? So I clear the snowbank and clear out his cars.

The lyrics ring in my ears,

“I was lost and I was gone

I was almost dead inside

You and me against the world

It’s a beautiful night

It’s good to be alive”

It’s true. I was lost and I was gone. Almost dead, inside and out, but I’m here and standing in the midst of this New England snowstorm. It’s a beautiful night. The flakes drift down around me. Each unique. Glistening crystalline structures. Caught in the bright LED head lamps of my snowblower and the lights of the occasional plow truck. Beautiful and fleeting. Their brilliant geometry both temporary and conditional. I’m engulfed in the wonder of a storm, dazzled by swirling eddies of snowflakes careening around me as they spiral down to their resting places.

I was lost and I was gone. I built a life chasing a better career. I made large corporations more money, striving to build a better business life while neglecting my own. I was almost dead inside as they filled me with cardioplegia and stopped my heart and lungs to work on me. My brain activity being the only proof of life. I raced from task to task never living in the moment as I struggled to be what I was expected to be. My hobbies entertained, but didnt bring true joy. It’s a beautiful night. Alone in nature as the storm pounds the region. I watch the snow fall and realize I haven’t done this since I was a kid. What adult has time to watch the snow fall?

Tonight I make time.

I find a spark of energy in the music and look across the neighborhood. Ted and Carolyn are retired as well. I’ll clear the front of their drive too then I’ll call it quits, except Bill, down the street, is a military man and his truck is gone. His wife is home with a toddler and is snowed in and he won’t be able to park when he returns tomorrow.

I stop at home to fill up another tank of gas. There are other snowblowers running in the distance, but what is astounding is the next sound I hear. The sound of snow falling. I can hear it. A single flake makes no noise, but thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions falling about me make a faint crackling trickling sound. It’s faint, but if you’re still and quiet…

I put the fuel jug down and listen. I’m alive and I can hear it. You can’t hear snowflakes fall when you’re dead. I can hear it. The snowblower tinks and plinks as it cools. There’s a sizzle every now and then as warmed snow turns to water and drips onto hot exhaust flashing into steam and returning to atmosphere only to become flakes once again. The snowflakes make their sound. Holy crap! I can hear it.

Tonight I make time.

Soon I’m off and the last two driveways are cleared. It cost me time, but perhaps their tomorrows will be a little easier. I’m not a billionaire and it’s out of my grasp to build a spaceship. I won’t create a new media platform and I cannot fund societal changing innovations.

– But I can clear a driveway.

I can make time for a snowflake and I find a way to add one single step to my own activity. Can you imagine if just one half of the folks in my neighborhood did one extra thing for their neighbor? Just one thing. The result would be astounding.

All through my recovery I’ve had folks do one more thing. From the shift coordinator who stayed longer to bring me a breakfast snack during my 1st post OHS morning, to the visiting nurse who answered all my questions, stayed longer, and shared stories of her father’s ohs recovery, to every friend who delivered meals, stopped by, or sent messages, and my therapists who never laughed at my outrageous goals and dreams – but instead took me aside and made me feel special, then made a plan to continue fixing me long after our time was done. All of them did just one more unnecessary task. Took one more step. Somehow made time.

I type this with feet up and glass full of Apothic Dark. Earbuds out and playlist on pause. The warmth of the fire in striking contrast to the ice on my beard and the chill of my glass. The aroma of the lustrous red fills the air more pleasing than the exhaust of the snowblower. I’m sure my cardiologist would approve. My left elbow hurts care of a break at 5 years of age and my back is sore care of a motorcycle racing accident at 22. I have a list of injuries that would fill scrolls rather than Post-it notes. Perhaps I should have taken up coin collecting instead. Yes? No! These things bring me no regrets. They made me who I am. I’m sore, more sore than when I was a young man, and certainly more sore than had I taken fewer risks, but I’m not too sore to take another step. I am a heart patient, but I am not a sick heart patient. I was, but I have fought my way back and now I can take that extra step and be helpful to others and it is good.

No, I do not have the ability to start a media outlet and I cannot launch a satellite. I cannot cure cancer or even begin to figure out heart disease. I can do nothing monumental, but I can take one more step. I can clear a driveway for a neighbor. I can make time and I can be thankful to watch and listen to snowflakes falling.

My life is different now and I am grateful.

“This life could almost kill ya

When you’re trying to survive

It’s good to be here with ya

And it’s good to be alive”