Twice last week, as I was driving home, a DJ came on my favorite station to say, "Yeah, more snow!" I'm paraphrasing, but I wanted to throttle her. She proceeded, in what was supposed to be a forecast and not an editorial, to wish for five feet of snow and nine months of winter. I am considering writing a letter of complaint to the station manager. The kids had a snow day on Tuesday this week while a foot of snow fell. (I had to drive about 60 miles that day).
We had a day or two of sun after that, it gave a certain cast of springtime light that lit up my cheerful Toby jugs and gave us a little hope. (See above). The Tobies always look happy (well, they do drink) but this morning this is scene that greets them and me outside my home office window:
Another two inches fell overnight. As I was typing this, the snowplow guy came and cleared our driveway.
The sun is supposed to come out later today. I hope the mud that comes next will not swallow my car.
Sometimes it's hard to hold on to that sense of superiority that we generally enjoy in northern New England.
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