I woke up early Wednesday morning eager to see just how much pillowy white snow had fallen overnight. Mother Nature didn’t disappoint. There were gobs of the flaky white stuff piled high on every surface. I had to resist the urge to snuggle back down under my comforter, because visions of my imaginary snow day were already dancing in my head.

It would be a great day, as all snow days are. I’d sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and then throw on the old snow shoes for a tromp through the woods. The branches would be piled high with freshly fallen snow and more flakes would be floating down from the sky.

Worn out yet delighted, I’d return to the toasty-warm house and consume copious amounts of steaming hot cocoa (topped with a flotilla of mini-marshmallows AND a generous dollop of whipped cream.) My afternoon would be spent curled up reading or watching old holiday movies with Lulu, my intrepid feline, lounging about nearby. I’d only get up to put more wood on the fire. Or to get more hot cocoa.

Sounds pretty darn good, doesn’t it?

But as lovely as that would have been, it wasn’t in the cards. There are no such things as snow days for us poor schlups in the newspaper business. Heck, we’re lucky we get Christmas off!