That morning snow covered the grass on our front yard at 417 N. 84th St. in Oklahoma City. We were lucky the driveway and streets had soaked up most of the white stuff. That made it easier to push my Volkswagen out of the driveway after I buckled up my three-year-old son.

Once on the street it was easy to get it down the hill, jump in, pop the clutch, and get it started.

What wasn’t easy was my mother’s lecture after her grandson told her, “Mommy ran next to the car.”

Now that I’m a great-grandmother, instead of a new single mother, it’s easy to see her concern, but back in the winter of 1969, it was a matter of getting to work, and on time. I’d been late the day before when I couldn’t find one of my son’s shoes, and I didn’t want to be late again because of a little snow.

Now a little snow and ice on the driveway means I take tiny, slow, old-person steps, and I marvel at how I was able to do it in pointed-toe, high heel shoes all those years ago.

In the early 1970s there were times when I watched the snow out the 417 doorway with my new husband that were, well, magic. We stood and watched large snowflakes as they took flight and made easy, and soft landings while the kids watched TV.

We re-created that moment at Christmastime after we moved to Hennessey. I remember how beautiful it was, and that my husband unfolded an old newspaper clipping. It was a cartoon that showed a little boy and girl who held hands, and watched snowflakes fall.

Most of our Hennessey snow days were filled with driving the streets and county roads taking pictures for the newspaper. It was automatic after a snowfall: he’d drive and I’d shoot photos until he’d spot a Currier & Ives scene that needed his expertise.

We also had fun times bustin’ drifts on county roads in The Clipper’s Bronco. It worked much better than when he tried it a few years before when our newspaper-hauling vehicle was a station wagon.

Then the ice storm of 2002 hit.

I to that it could happen again this week, especially after it took me a half dozen tries to get into our driveway Monday night after covering a school board meeting.

The driveway isn’t steep. It’s more like a slight incline, but my SUV’s tires started to spin a little, and a light came on the dash.

I’d back up, drive forward, and try to get into the driveway, but couldn’t get over the ice.

Then I guess I summoned up the nerve of that 24-year-old me who’d pushed that 1960 Volkswagen out of the driveway. That was when the 76-year-old me gunned it.

I made it up the drive without crashing into the garage, porch, or house, and hope I don’t have that kind of trouble after Thursday night’s town board meeting. I also hope my insurance agent doesn’t read this.