...That Name Again Is Mr. Plow.

Well, no news here: it is snowing in Minnesota today. But I have had friends over to eat baked ziti and drink mulled wine and eggnog for two nights in a row. My dish soap ran out and Dishes Mountain has grown to disturbing new heights in my tiny kitchen. It was time to put on the snow pants, long underwear, serious snow boots, down jacket, fleece-lined knit hat and fleece neck ruff and make to the Linden Hills Co-op on foot for some Dirty Hippie Dish Soap (not a real brand, though perhaps my next business venture).

When the snow wasn't blowing in my eyes, it was really fun to see all the other people walking or snowshoeing to the Co-op. Some of them were very smart and were pulling their bags of groceries in plastic sleds. It was so pretty out (when the snow wasn't blowing in my eyes) that I decided to take a short detour on the way home to walk by a park. I saw people digging their Prius out of the snow--which, even if you get it out, how will you get anywhere with it? You see the roads. They're right there, with snow piles taller than any part of your car.

Kitty-corner to the Prius was a stuck USPS truck with front wheels spinning. I kicked the snow away from the postman's front tires so he could get down the street, but we met up again around the corner when he had to stop for the minivan stuck going uphill--which, again, if your bumper is maybe five inches from the ground, why would you try?

Postman and I pushed the minivan back down to the plowed street from whence it came, and by that time the mail truck was stuck again. I got down on the ground and scooped snow away from the wheels and he was on his way again. Back on my block I noticed the dishsoap had fallen out of my jacket pocket. Nothing like looking for a white bottle of soap in a blizzard! I retraced my steps and found it in the snow next to the mail truck's tracks where it had gotten stuck the second time.

It was honestly so fun walking around in the snow that I had to play in back of my building for a bit. Stomp, stomp, stomp; snowball; stomp. A guy in the building on the other side of my block was running sprints back and forth in his parking lot, so I think I was comparatively pretty cool.

Now I'm back inside for the weekend, polishing off the nog and watching unchallenging Ben Stiller movies on cable by the tree while my boots dry in the bathtub and I finish my Christmas shopping online. I mean, I'm not going back out there to shop. It's snowing at an incredible rate!