Well, that was an amazing storm. Eighteen inches of snow and 50-mile-per-hour winds; at least 20 cars stuck on our corner, including a cop car and a plow truck. Bicycle Rescue Boys enthusiastically peddling through the mess to help dig people out. Tow trucks galore. Dogs in various states of joy and dismay. And absolutely no sledding . . . the wind was so strong that it would have torn the sleds from our hands. We'll have to wait till tonight.
Today is Ruckus's fourth birthday and also the Ides of March, which seems appropriate. The street is now filled with trudgers carrying snow shovels down to the parking-ban lots and terriers getting stuck in snowbanks. Ruckus is staring balefully out the window. Tom is eating leftover pork and lentil soup for breakfast and preparing to join the trudgers. I, however, am pleasantly indifferent to the fact that the plow guy hasn't cut an entrance into our driveway yet. The longer he procrastinates, the longer I can.