Who Ordered the White Christmas?

We've got trouble...right here in River City.  With a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'P' and that stands for 'Precipitation'.  In the form of snow.  Lots of it.  And we're not even in northern Ohio!  There seems to be some kind of mix up.  I am *not* the one who was dreaming of white Christmas.  Not.  Me.

The back deck; another few inches have fallen since this was taken.

It started last night, a light fluttery snowfall, and continued while we slumbered.  We awoke to a world gone white, the likes of which neither of us has seen since our Ohio childhoods.  Back then we had one-piece zip-up snowsuits that bundled us in puffy warmth.  Many years in the desert and Italy have left us without boots or snow gear.  I dug around in a box to retrieve my thick wool socks.  I located my mittens.  Not that I'll need them today; I'm parked in my recliner and will not be leaving the house.  Opening the door welcomes in a tumbling of wet white stuff.

Bryan laced up his hiking boots to go outside and shovel the sidewalk, a losing battle if ever I saw one.  Powdery snow cascaded down into his boots and accumulated around his jeans.  He came into the house looking like the abominable snowman with a stocking cap crowned with a steeple of snow.  Within thirty minutes the path he shoveled was covered anew.

It is still falling unabated, steadily, heavily.  My poor car is buried.  Poor Arnold!  He's a snow virgin.  He has never been exposed to the elements, especially winter elements like this, before. 

 That buried lump is Arnold. It's covered even more now.

I have Christmas music playing and will be firing up the oven to do some baking.  After all, there is nowhere to go.  But I'm skipping over I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas.  That dream - even though it wasn't mine - has already come true.

Cardinals - in the tree and on the window