There is almost anything I rather do than clean house.  Outside jobs I am good for.  One of the jobs I actually like to do is shovel snow.  The past two winters haven’t been so good because I did something to my shoulder for which it has yet to forgive me.  The older my joints get the longer they seem to hold onto a grudge.  This morning, because I am stubborn and won’t let a grumpy shoulder deter me, I was out shovelling the ‘no longer’ snow off my sidewalk.  The snow had turned into icy compacted slush frozen nastiness and was not very accommodating to my efforts.  Getting a tiny bit frustrated with the futility of my endeavour and my shoulder starting to protest loudly, I pitched a shovel full of slush into the road.  It was a fabulous sloshy splat slush explosion.  Right there was motivation to continue.  Oblivious to most everything else I toiled away, gleefully pitching slush into the road.  While I was unaware, and probably giggling to myself,  my neighbour’s daughter came up behind me to pass by.  I am guessing from the slightly worried smile she gave me on the way by she was wondering about the different kinds of crazy that I am.  Maybe she didn’t catch me giggling to myself and is still concerned about my crazy.