A-Sleddin’ We Will Go

It will seem silly to any of you in the northern half of the United States today that my biggest concern when I decided to write about sledding in Connecticut for my hometown magazine was that we’d be having a mild, flake-free winter in these parts.

But it’s true. Those are the things you worry about when you have to file copy eight weeks before the piece actual gets published.

I’m pretty certain I when I e-mailed my draft of “Snow Patrol” to my editor in early October that I was sitting on my back deck in shorts, fighting off the last of the summer mosquitos and mulling whether we had enough sweetened lime juice to mix up a celebratory gimlet.

I’d cry but the last thing I need is ice cubes.

Go. Read “Snow Patrol.” I hope it warms your funny bone.

Zen and the Art of Snow Shoveling

I mocked the warning of the Woolly Bear caterpillars with narrow brown midsections. I laughed at the extra thick skins on the onions at the farmer's market. I never noticed the thinning crotch in my thermal undies.

Ignoring all the foreboding signs, I plowed ahead with my plan that this winter would be the one when we would remove all the snow off our driveway by hand.

Call me macho, call me masochistic or, like my mother did when leaving me the number of her plow guy, just call me stupid.