It is winter, after all

Hoover knows it's winter. He revels in the newly fallen snow - leaps and bounds about chasing snow flakes; plays fetch with snowballs that vanish when they hit the ground; and generally exudes an amazing amount of joy when the door opens on a fresh snowfall.

The rest of us, however, seem to have a tendency to gravitate to the fireplace, soft music and low light, book in hand, blanket artfully draped around the supine body. While this image is good for the soul, and perhaps even the intellect, it does little for the rapidly expanding posterior or for productivity in the sphere of work.

To counteract at least some of this winter lethargy (oh yes, I am among those who loathe being cold), tomorrow I will bundle up and sally forth with a friend in search of waterfalls to photograph - running waterfalls, frozen waterfalls - it doesn't matter - just waterfalls. I am psyching myself up now to look forward to freezing my toes, nose and other parts off and trying to keep my camera warm and dry while trudging over ice and snow, lugging 40 pounds of gear, to find these marvels of nature.

In reality, I probably will enjoy it. Or, if not the actual hunt, the creation of the images at the end of the trek. In the meantime - lining up the clothes. For those who know me, and fail to recognize me tomorrow, I'll be the one that resembles the Pillsbury Doughboy.