Snowstorm blows in sexy pirate star
Yup, we got dumped on. And, it’s been quite an adventure ever since. It started with what forecasters called our third-worst snowstorm since 1895. I don’t know what the officials say, but we measured more than 4 feet of snow on our roof at one time – 5 feet in some places. During the past two weeks, we’ve lost our power, helped at least a dozen people get unstuck – fireplace ash works great – and shoveled and plowed tons of snow.
One evening, during a lull between storms, a friend called to say her out-of-town husband told her to get the snow shoveled off the roof of the 1890 building they own. We soon got a crew together and went to work, finishing at 11 p.m. that night. The next day, after hearing what happened in Priest River and to our hardware store, we realized we better get busy on our own roof.
We called our son and asked him to come over after work, then grabbed our shovels. We shoveled the roofs off the storage sheds and then climbed up the ladder. Hours later, I was in a prone position atop the house, panting like a dog that has been playing Frisbee way too long, when we finally saw Chris pull in the driveway. A white Hummer pulled in behind him. “Great,” said my husband, breathlessly, “He brought help!”
Chris climbed out of his Tundra and hollered that he couldn’t find the snow shovel that we had asked him to buy – no surprise – but had found someone who offered to help – big surprise. We would have shown our excitement if we could.
The two young men disappeared into the house for a few minutes, but were soon climbing onto the roof, dressed in proper snow-removal attire. “Mom,” said Chris, smiling hugely, “this is Johnny Depp – he’s going to help us clean off the roof.”
A hot flash hit with the blast of a steel furnace. I grew shorter as the snow beneath my feet melted. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I gaped like a Biggest Loser contestant at a Big Mac … with fries … and a chocolate milkshake. Unfazed, my husband welcomed him. I nodded, dumbstruck. The men stood uneasily for a couple of minutes until Johnny said, “Well, let’s move this snow.” They dug in. Johnny Depp was shoveling snow off my roof – my snow!
My mind worked like a race car driver rounding the final lap. Could this really happen? Is it true? While not a huge fan of the questionable Jack Sparrow, and scared to death of Sweeney Todd, I have long been a Johnny Depp fan. One of my sons met him in downtown Spokane years ago when he was filming “Benny & Joon,” and I had been envious even then. Now he was on my roof in Rathdrum.
All I could think of was how I looked. Dressed in an old bright blue and silver snowboarding coat, a pair of black snow pants, a red stocking cap with a pompom the size of a Texas homecoming chrysanthemum, brown snow boots and camouflage-colored gloves that I had inherited from one of the boys, I was a vision.
I had been working in the falling snow all day. My hair, flattened by the stocking cap jammed on it, was hopeless. No makeup. No earrings. I was a mess – and the man voted the Sexiest Man Alive in 2003, was shoveling my snow!
The three men were soon talking and laughing, male camaraderie and a job to do cementing a quick bond. Eventually, I too went to work, careful to maintain a slower pace so I wouldn’t start panting again. For the next two hours, the four of us shoveled snow, the companionable silence broken by a male guffaw every once in awhile. There was not a peep out of me – Edward Scissorhands was shoveling my snow!
Around 9 p.m. we decided to stop. Cold, wet and tired, we climbed down. Johnny declined to come in, saying he had to get going. He politely shook hands with the men and then gave me one of his killer, naughty, little smiles before he trudged across the snow, climbed into his rig and drove away. More snow melted.
I’m not quite sure how you made it here, Johnny, but welcome to North Idaho. Once we get plowed out again, we hope you’ll stop by for dinner so we can say thanks for helping with the roof. I promise there won’t be any paparazzi, and I make a killer Stouffer’s lasagna.