“We’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland.” I’m lying. I’m not happy. Here I am stuck in the house, and from the window I can see way off to the driveway where the blue plastic sleeve of my newspapers is clearly visible. I know if I really wanted the papers I could put on heavy shoes and some warmer pants then trudge my way through the deep snow to the papers. I think I’ll choose to be patient and wait for Skip, my factotum, to come to plow and shovel.

We didn’t get as much snow as I expected. I think maybe we got only 8 or 9 inches. The problem is the snow is heavy and wet. Branches and bushes bow under the weight. The sky is still grey. I was hoping for some sun. Nothing is prettier than untouched snow glittering in the sun.

My dad was one of those shovelers who went out during the storm hoping to stay ahead of the snow. I used to watch him from the picture window. He’d do the front steps first then the path then the three steps to the street and finally his car. Sometimes the snow was so high I couldn’t see him, but I knew where he was because I could see the snow flying left or right off his shovel into the air.

The plows left layers of snow on the street. Sometimes the first layer would melt just a bit from the sun then overnight it would refreeze and produce the perfect hill for sledding with a layer of ice on top. This happened every day until the streets were down to pavement then we went sledding on the grassy hills.

Today I have football, the Pats against the Broncos. The winner will be Super Bowl bound.  I’ll be cheering and clapping the whole game; at least, that’s what I expect.

(P.S.  Skip has come and gone. Yippee!)