When the well-meaning, kind-hearted neighbor says, “isn’t this snow beautiful?!” it is tough for me not to knock him senseless with my shovel.

When snow is falling in the city (not in Vermont when you have nothing to do but snowshoe anyway…), and cars need to be unearthed, and sidewalks are too narrow to maneuver with garbage bins, and the stairs are icy no matter how much salt, then a stream of profanities and some hardcore complaining is your only man. And grousing WITH the neighbors is the really good stuff. It is cathartic, validating.

Yes, there is nothing we can do about the snow. Yes, it is all good and well to stoke our inner fires and our strong New England reserves of energy and optimism and face/deal with/delight in the wonders of winter.

But it’s also good to bitch.

So, nice Ned Flanders neighbor: please do not dismiss my dismay. Agree with me that this newest snow is all too much. Tell me to hang in there. And tell me the Spring is absolutely beautiful when it comes to Boston.