Yesterday I went out for a peaceable zigzag walk through the neighborhood--woods, narrow sidewalks, public library, bill mailing, stamp buying, that sort of thing--and returned home to discover that ice weight had torn the gutter and some siding off the front of the house, with the whole mess dangling over and onto the front stoop so that huge heavy chunks of ice were poised dangerously above the skull of any mailman who should happen to wander by, and thus Tom, tired after a day's labor, had to immediately climb out of his truck and fetch a ladder and patch up the damage in the dark . . . which he did efficiently and without the use of any curse words, and so I just want to say, "Happy birthday to the man who holds everything together, and may nothing fall off the house today and force you to stand under icy roof drip and try to screw torn vinyl siding into rotten soffit boards so that they can create at least a semblance of waterproofness until spring."