It's the first day of Spring, everyone! Yippee! It even says so on the calendar hanging in my kitchen. Right there in the box for March 20, there's a small reminder that reads "Spring begins." This is such great news, because winter can seem so cold and gray and ENDLESS up here in our neck of the woods.
But calendars lie (or maybe it's just that New England never seems to get the memo about this), because here's the view out my front porch this morning.
Thank goodness we have a PLOW GUY these days, because now that our five strong sons have grown up and moved out (and those boys could wield snow shovels like nobody's business! They were pros!), storms like this one are more than my husband and I can deal with on our own. And this one hit when he was away on a trip! If I'd had to figure out how to dig out of this mess all by my lonesome...I shudder to think about it. I couldn't even hope for a kindly neighbor riding over on a snow blower, like a knight in shining armor, to save me. Nobody around here does their own snow removal. They all use the same plow guy. They've used him for years, while we held out as long as we could and depended on the cheap labor provided by our children. But now he's our guy, too.
On mornings such as this, though, I wonder: do we have the wrong kind of guy? Now that we're grandparents, aren't we supposed to move down to Florida and get ourselves a POOL GUY?
It's tempting, let me tell you.