When you walk through a storm keep your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the wolves…

I thought of those lyrics this morning, at dawn, when I decided (Lord only knows why) to set out for a hike in Owen Woods. The drama of it is lost now, since I not only made it back without incident, but then, in my exhausted and caked-in-snow condition, proceeded to dig my house out – a task that I already bragged about in the post below (but let me repeat it here for emphasis: TWO AND A HALF HOURS OF SHOVELING!).

Sometimes I wonder why we all don’t just wait ‘til spring. I mean, the stuff does eventually melt.

Only a few photos from the morning hike. It was too cold and too blizzardy to keep taking the camera out.

Where’s the path?
 

Hey, great! Thank you, wild animal with the deep tracks. WILD ANIMAL WITH THE DEEP TRACKS?? 

It’s snowing hard now. A little too hard.
 

It was worth it. Not every morning can begin with such splendid views. 

Where Ocean once again provides an invaluable service to the community

In an effort to bring together those in need and those with surplus energy, Ocean is suggesting that you volunteer your services to older members in the community who may be in need of shoveling assistance.

Oh, you don’t know where to direct your good will? Ocean will attempt to match you up with an elderly* homeowner.

* Definition of elderly for the purposes of this post: over 50. And no, I am sure they will not feel insulted if, on the day of the next big snow you show up at the crack of dawn and surprise them with a cleared driveway. Time estimate for the commitment? It took me, for example, two and a half hours today to clear my driveway, sidewalk and steps.

Bloggers making fun of their professional associations

Note the audacity of JFW and Bozzo in Comments (same page)! Rather than heralding the efforts of their associations to instill pride in their discipline and profession, they mock and ridicule it all. Gentlemen, be glad that there is someone fashioning shirts, baby ‘jammies and flash cards. In 1978, when my husband was first on the job market at the ASA meetings (in San Francisco, in the days when I, too, considered myself one of “them”), I had to take things into my own hands. Here’s the shirt I made up for him to wear at the meetings:

I wonder why he still keeps it around...