When I was a kid I loved the idea of a huge snow. Then you grow up and think, dear Lord, what happened?

Then you resolve yourself to going out and taking care of it.

The joys of shoveling snow.

I really agree with as my friend Vivian seems to find the mater humorous. When she explains why it is more enjoyable to watch people go about the most illogical ways of handling the confrontation with snow, you will see a lot.

For reference this morning: my next door neighbor tried to shovel a foot and a half of snow in a mini (it was above the knee) skirt and highheel boots this morning.

That is my next door neighbor, she is generally alright, but ditsy. And what made it worse was that she was wearing a skirt that came up above the knee. When I went out she hadn't gotten far. I put on my snowmobile suit, boots, thick gloves, and a hat. When I was done I was sweating, but I had anticipated that. I would rather have that than loose a toe to hypothermia.

When I finished our sidewalk and drive I went and helped her. She actually thought I was my husband. Which I got a kick out of since my suite is a very feminine color that my husband would never be caught dead in.

My kids were happy though. Snow days still hold their magic for them.