The snow thrower was dead, that much is certain. That the snow thrower 
was dead is vitally important to the story I’m about to tell. The Christmas Crippler had stung New England, dumping twenty inches of spirit deadening snow on everything. The weight of the new snow hung especially heavy on Michaemorser Scrooge.
“Humbug,” he said pulling the cord over and over, knowing no life would come to the wretched machine, but pulling nonetheless. In an effort to save a nickel he had used last years lawn mower gas, too cheap to support the economy and those so desperately in need by buying some fresh gas. He gave one more might tug to no avail, kicked the lifeless beast and headed toward the garage. As the door lowered, a vision appeared.
“Michaelmorserscroooge!” the haunting apparition wailed as the snow continued to rise.
Scrooge jumped back, shocked to see the ghost of his past reflected in the garage door glass.
“What do you want,” snapped Scrooge at himself.
“To warn yoooo,” said the ghost, his voice nearly lost in the freezing wind, “to tell you to quit being such a cheapskate and spend some moneeey…”
Scrooge dismissed the ghost. “Humbug,” he said, and retreated to the warmth of the house, immediately going to the thermostat and turning the heat down.
“Oh, Michaelmorser,”said Mrs. Scrooge, wrapped in a tattered quilt, three generations old. “It’s Christmastime, can’t we keep it on 60 degrees, just this once?”
“Are we the Rockefellers?” asked Scrooge, pulling an old blanket around his shoulders.
“No, we’re the Morse’s,” said the Mrs. ,and turned the heat up.
Michaelmorser headed back into the cold, and felt the comfort of the freezing wind chill his cheap old bones. He kicked the snowthrower, pulled the cord once again, listened to it sputter and die and picked up a shovel.
He bent to his task, a blinding light filled his vision as he lifted the first shovelful of snow. He fell onto his back, writhing in pain, arms and legs flailing. Slowly the pain subsided, and he stood. He threw the shovel into the blizzard, and hung his head in despair.
A tiny snowflake caught his eye, and he followed it until it came to rest, right where he fell. There, the outline of a snow angel lie, still, serene and quiet. Michaelmorser looked at the angel and hope filled his empty soul.
“They did it in one hour!” he exclaimed to the falling snow. A boy walked by, carrying a shovel.
“Boy,” said Scrooge. “What day is this?”
“Why, it’s Saturday,” said the boy.
“A remarkable boy, an intelligent boy,” said Michaelmorser.
“Do you know the gas can, the one in your garage?”
“The one as big as me?”
“A delightful boy! Yes, that one, get it and bring it to me and I’ll give you a quarter. Do it now and I’ll give you half a dollar!”
The boy disappeared, into his home to play x-box.
Michaelmorser Scrooge spent the next hour cleaning his gas line to his snowthrower, and putting some fresh gasoline into it.
It started on the first pull.
Old Scrooge kept his promise, and never used old fuel again.
And a Merry Christmas to you all!
“
I too had a similar problem, Michaemorser. Yesterday, when I went out to fire up the string trimmer, old gas created a problem for me as well. As we were expecting company for a BBQ (a cook-out as I believe you easterners refer to it)I needed the lawns to appear freshly mowed and groomed. As I entered the house to fetch my keys, my lovely bride asked me to turn on the AC, as it was much too warm for her and likely for our expected guests. I too am rather miserly and told her to wear shorts.
Fortunately, a quick adjustment was completed and the lawns were quickly done.
Aren’t these late autumn days a bitch?
Hope you guys didn’t get beat up too bad, It looks bad back there.
Ah, Captain Schmoe, you black hearted, warm weathered friend! Thanks for reminding me that there is warmth and such a thing as AC! To be honest, I actually love this stuff; until March anyway!
That was a really great story! Loved it! Hope you have a Merry Christmas Mike!
Enjoyed your story, no bah humbug for you! Wishing you a very Merry Chistmas too.
My 19 year old dinky little Toro CCR 2 stroke isn’t too fussy about gas. For the first time ever I had to disassemble and clean the carburetor last spring. It started right up with last year’s gas/oil mix yesterday.
OTOH, my neighbor’s year old 4 stroke Troy Built needed $175.00 worth of carburetor work because he failed to drain the tank last spring. Seems that the new snow blowers have somewhat delicate carbs that don’t like E-10 gas unless you add stabilizer with every tank.
Two lessons. Drain the tank and run the machine until it stalls out to clear the carb. Don’t by Troy Built since they use cheap Chinese made carburetors.
Wishing you a Very Merry Christmas, Michael!
Thank you Jean, Jenny and Susie, a Merry Christmas to you all!
Author, author!!
Thanks, Monique, but I’m no Dickens. I had been reading “Christmas Stories,” a collection of Dickens’s holiday themed things, “A Christmas Carol” being the first when the storm hit and I ventured outside. I found the complete works of Charles Dickens at an antique store in Connecticut and finally got around to opening one of the books. Inside was a hand written note from Lady Somethingorother, I don’t have it here, to her granddaughter along with a newspaper photo from the forties, of her I presume. It brought me back in time alone in a blizzard, thinking.
It’s truly sad how what we read has changed over the years. When Dicken’s wrote, there was no TV, Internet, IPhones or other distractions. (or snowthrowers)Poorly written books were unacceptable and never would see the light of day. There are a few artists out there still, and i think I have potential to be a better than average writer, but I can’t seem to stay at it long enough to improve.
That was a fun story. Those winters can be hell. I think that’s why I had to relocate to Sunny Cali. At any rate I hope you had a good Christmas holiday.
John