Batten Down the Hatches
It’s going to be a stormy kind of weekend. Stormy in a good sense,
that is. I know, snow can be a bitch if you have to travel, but
there is something about the prospect of buckets of white stuff falling
from the sky that gets me excited. The fridge is full. The wood is
split and nestled by the fireplace. The Wootton family is home, safe
and sound. Let’s do it.
It’s always fun to watch the snow totals fluctuate as a big snow approaches.
Every forecaster wants to be the first to predict doom. Every network
wants the ratings (Frosty the Snowman spotted at Walmart – news at eleven).
This time not only can’t the networks agree but
neither can my web sources. There seems to be some consensus that
Sunday will be the day of reckoning. The actual total, though, is
still quite up in the air. Somewhere between five and twenty inches
of snow is virtually assured. I can’t wait.
