It's late, after midnight. I'm here in Dairyland hunkering down for another early Spring blizzard. I know it's not actually Spring, but years ago it used to be. Thousands of chubberifics will be whining and complaining tomorrow about all of the snow. Some may even fall over dead due to the strain on their cheese encrusted arteries as they shovel the mess away.
I like getting all of this snow. I love to look out the window and see snowbanks that rival the size of those in photographs of my father as a child playing. This is not a bunch of 'white powdery beef'(quoting Binky from Shakes the Clown) like snow, but rather, heavy duty, sloppy, wet, messy, chunky shovel until you throw up good and hard precipitation.
This is the kind of snow that makes everything look quaint and cozy, picture perfect. For some it's a blessing, covering a seasons worth of laziness. I would hate to be the neighbor of the house up the street where four dogs have shit all winter with no pooperscooping whatsoever when the thaw finally comes.
For the moment, everything is Kinkadian. Although I would have to add a few hand-touched dog shit piles just for authenticity.
