At 11:00 am, the Chef bundled up to shovel our sidewalk and driveway. The snow is picking up, still falling, and the wind is wickedly whipping it around. While he was outside, freezing and sweating at the same time, I was snug as a bug in a rug at our kitchen table... well, that it until the wind shifted and started blowing snow through the new crack above the french doors that lead to the backyard. Yikes, we'll have to do some insulating or something before the next storm.
An hour later, at 12:00.
Drifts are piling high around the house, and seem to have destroyed much of the hard work my husband did by shoveling.
I'm still copy editing, and now the Chef is making lunch. And no, he usually doesn't dress up in his chef whites to cook for us, he was just cold and didn't want to cook in a bulky sweater. And yes, I was Starbucks girl for years, and when I quit I didn't return my aprons.