Here's the Scoop: March 10, 2010

The Snowstorm – Part 2
Because I have many entries of The Snowstorm planned for this series, I thought it was important not to name them with Roman numerals. I think I speak for many others, when I say that Roman numerals aren’t that easy to figure out once they get past III. For instance, I’m willing to bet there are lots of football fans who have no idea which Super Bowl was just played.
But I’m not here to write about football. I’m documenting The Snowstorm. This week, I will focus on being Sick of The Snowstorm. Face it, we’re into March and the “in like a lion” thing is getting a bit old. Especially since the lion reared its ugly white, cold, slippery head during the last week in February.
My unscientific research indicates the statute of limitations for sitting around staring bleakly at huge piles of snow is about eight days. It’s kind of like the phases of a divorce, there’s anger, denial, revenge — but Snowstorm Sickness also mixes in a bunch of shoveling and big plowing bills.
So, on Sunday we decided that we had to get away from the white sea. We were heading somewhere warm. And snowless. We were going…east! To Woodstock! I guess this was especially ironic since Woodstock prides itself as a “cool” place.
Knowing that it’s sort of traditional to travel south for sun and fun, we figured out an easier and cheaper getaway. Our destination was a quick drive, but may as well have been to a different planet. Wait, I guess that’s always sort of true of that location.
We are well aware that Woodstock is not the actual site of that famous concert event. We did discover, however, that Woodstock is a spot only 35 miles east of Margaretville that somehow completely escaped the huge snowfall from the previous week. That was music to our ears.
The mountains surrounding the village had plenty of snow. In town, nothing. Plus, the thermometer was hovering around 60 degrees.
Let’s recount: Zero snow. Balmy-feeling temperatures. Teens (wearing designer clothing) on the street begging for meal money. We weren’t in Kansas anymore — and it was like the Weather Wizard had pulled some sort of very neat trick.

What a relief!
After more than a week of being surrounded by snow, I couldn’t have been happier on a Caribbean island. That may not be entirely true, but still, it was a nice break. Without the exotic cocktails.
Even so, it was an incredible feeling to be away from the snow — every spec of snow — for just a few hours.
Like many other folks who were crowding Woodstock’s streets, we took the opportunity to simply hang out and enjoy some sunshine. Best of all, it was free.
We talked to a number of other folks who were also suffering the delusions of spring fever. It was truly an enjoyable day.
One Aging Hippie we chatted with simply couldn’t believe it when we told him about the huge mounds of snow that surrounded our house just 40 minutes to the west. He expressed sympathy when we finally decided it was time to head back to the Winter Wonderland.
“White on, Man,” he shouted as we departed for our igloo, I mean house. White on, indeed. At least for a few more weeks.