[Insert Scathingly Brilliant Title Here]

Ahh, to wake up to 8 inches of freshly fallen snow is a rare treat in March. Scratch that, it's pretty much EXPECTED in March. Kinda like mother nature giving you one last kick in the pants before letting the crocuses come up.

It really was rather beautiful. I didn't even somuch mind that I had a 3 hour commute (normally a 20 minute commute) or that my route could only be explained in diagrams, clicks and whistles (uhh...3 bus--yes, bus--pileup on a 4 lane highway...the lords of chaos rejoice, "What fun!"). By the end of the day St. Paul got about 10-12 inches of wet, heavily compacted snow. The kind that comes down in clumps instead of flakes and sticks on EVERYTHING (only to fall off in sheets and hit small children on the head later).

I have reaffirmed that there is absolutely no greater joy in life than coming inside after being out in the snow. There is no greater warmth or comfort than walking through the door, soaking wet, into a warm kitchen and being able to immediately strip off all clothing and hang it on a warm radiator. It's the same principle as, "Those who are denied no pleasure never truly experience pleasure." I was outside shoveling (in what the locals call "heart-attack snow"). Certain parts of my body always get cold (i.e. the toes, the fingers and the butt--don't ask me why my butt ALWAYS gets cold) and certain parts are too warm and sweaty (for indeed, shoveling snow really is difficult work). But there's nothing like seeing the physical accomplishment of a sidewalk shoveled--the pristine blanket of snow undisturbed save for your path. There's nothing like that first step in the door, feeling accomplished, rosy-cheeked, drippy and so totally alive that you want to breath more deeply just to savor the experience. Ah well, perhaps it's just a cold climate thing.

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