The thing about March snow is that it's *March* snow, id est it must contend with March sun. This is generally no contest. As was proved last week. Last Sunday I walked out in shoes. Last Tuesday snow fell in quantity. Last Wednesday the sidewalks were clear and in many cases dry. Thus yesterday's 36 hour snowfall that had the local papers screaming about 30 centimetres and the worst to come last night!!! a) wasn't 30 cm here b) stopped early last night and c) has vanished entirely from sidewalks shovelled this morning.
Someone else-I suspect the next-door older bro- did my sidewalk; I contented myself playing Ling Gufu slaying the enemies of Yue at the street corners and the tits on a bull's corner place that I regularly clear. Not all of it: I grow old, and no doubt tomorrow it'll be slush or ice or both as I trudge to work. Came back and looked at my current reading, the Hambly of which has dropped anvil-sized hints about the Horrible Things that will happen to a nice young character, and said the hell with it, I'm reading Judge Dee. Judge Dee is one of life's regular reliable pleasures. It belongs to that easy cosmopolitan European way of doing things that I wish we had more of over here, and proves that one can indeed write from outside another culture without having people inside it turn puce: but only, I suspect, if you read your sources in the original.
And I shall ignore that certain person on people's FLs maintaining that it's only Gen X-ers like herself who truly appreciate Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, while Boomers like me are still stuck at Suzanne. Suzanne. Four decades ago Suzanne. If this is true, then Canadians really and truly are different from Yanks, and not just because we can marry who we please.