Point of View

The Ice Scraper

This probably won’t be met with much sympathy by those of you buried beneath drifts of snow and ice, but this was day two of a long-forgotten and not missed routine of scraping my windshield before heading off to work.
Now, as a Phoenician and former Chicago-dweller, I have long since retired the tools of winter survival. When I announced my intentions of relocating to the valley of the sun eleven years ago, friends and family alike gathered for the passing of the ice scraper ceremony. Everyone gathered at the trunk of my car in heated anticipation of the pending events to unfold. There it sat in unbridled splendor; the clear plastic handle of a piece of engineering wonder the likes of which there was no other, mended together with duct tape from years of faithful service, beside the spare tire and can of fix-a-flat. They all stood in a silent prayer-like trance as I carefully lifted it out from the depths of my trunk; stray carpet fibers sticking to the peeling duct tape. I turned to face the disciples of ice and snow, raising the ice scraper over my head, the sun light passing through the opaque plastic body which cast an eerie rainbow on their mesmerized faces, allowing them to see the prize in all its glory. Then, and without warning I turned and tossed the ice scraper over my shoulder and into the air; its silhouette captured by the sun as it tumbled end-over-end in suspended animation above the crazed group.
This unleashed a frenzied battle as cousins fought cousins and friends, not wanting to miss out on a chance to own the holy grail of ice scrapers, tackled grandma. Brothers and sisters kicked while Uncle Lou sacked Aunt Mary. A heap of tangled arms and legs came to rest in a sweaty pile of torn cloths and tattered hair; and there beside them, in a drift of snow, appeared the ice scraper, embedded handle up like the sword and the stone where it is rumored to still remain, unclaimed and is, to this day, a heated topic at family occasions.
I think back to the days of my little ice scraper and silently thank it for its years of service and wonder if it is related to the credit card I am now forced to use in Phoenix to clear the ice from my windshield.