The other (snow) shoe drops

Good-bye, tennis shoes.

Good-bye, spring.

Hello, you butt-load of snow. We now return to regularly scheduled programming: Winter.

We've had ourselves a bit of weather the last couple of days in Bermtopia and are now the proud owners of about 10 inches of snow on the ground. My dream come true.

Not.

For the last week or so, the local weather whizzes had been intoning about a string of "potent" storms heading our way, with the Big Kahuna slated for Wednesday. The Big K was more like Little K, but his Evil Twin Brother arrived Thursday with a vengeance.

It snowed ALL day and well into the evening. Not the lazy, idyllic, drifting snow reminiscent of Currier and Ives, but steady, driving snow intent on accumulating in massive, annoying amounts on the streets I drive and the sidewalks I stroll. Almost every single photo I took looked out of focus, not because my hands were unsteady, but because too much SpoUcking snow was falling (or so I like to think).

Friday morning kicked off with a 5 a.m. wake-up call from my boss. The colleges were closing. Thirty minutes of website notifications -- and a couple cups of coffee -- later, Ben and I hit the unplowed streets. Pure joy.

Not.

You do NOT want to tangle with this.

The 'hood was buried, everything cloaked with a thick frosting of snow. Whirlpools of snow on the street beckoned unsuspecting cars, ready to suck them into a cold, cold abyss. We slogged slowly down the street, slightly disoriented by the sea of rumpled white masking familiar neighborhood landmarks.

Finally, Ben turned, looked at me and silently asked the $64,000 question, the question that haunts the hearts and minds of thousands of Bermtopians following a winter snowfall, the question, which in Ben's case, remained unanswered for the last 24 hours:

"And just where exactly is a guy supposed to do his Business in this stuff?"