There's a lot to be said for keeping the Earth's surface cool, but I, for one, am tired -- as I'm sure my brothers and sisters in the Northeastern part of These United States are, after receiving foot upon foot of Earth coolant these last few weeks -- of having said coolness underfoot for months and months at a time.
I refer, of course, to the snow.
And so I am doing something about it.
I spent a good part of Saturday afternoon out-of-doors, clad in nothing but a full set of clothing, leggings, boots, hat and gloves, chopping ice.
From a February-in-Minnesota perspective, I was practically naked.
Yessiree, Bob, we've come to the time of year when you can't quite see Spring but you just might be able to smell it.
You smell that? No, not that. That's abandoned, quasi-frozen dog poop. That other smell -- do you smell it? Smells like sunshine, like slowly awakening trees, like the hint of a thought of a possibility of grilling meat outdoors again.
I do miss steaks on the grill.
Armed only with optimism, my wits, and a rather heavy iron ice splitter called a "Little Mutt", I have taken matters into my own hands.
The street in front of the house, the sidewalks, and the alley have been chopped within inches of their ice-bound lives. Rough, dry patches are everywhere, making such dangerous activities as walking, standing still, or getting into a car without falling, possible again.
Spring should be here any moment now.
No, no. YOU'RE welcome.
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