It's a blizzard here in Michigan ... we have about 14 inches on the ground, and we're supposed to get at least a foot more. I cannot even see the trees from my office window, which overlook our woods here at Turkey Run.

Turkey Run is the name of our little knotty pine cottage, where I now live and work. It sits just outside of a cute resort town, which was barely visible from the road this morning due to the snow. The scene looked as if I were trapped in a snow globe, and it had suddenly gotten shaken.

And that pretty much sums up how I feel right now. Enchanted, but, oh so off-kilter by the snow. It's not the snow, it's the amount of snow. The sky vomits snow here, alongside the lake. I now know what lake-effect really means: Certain death. It's like looking into the wrong end of a snow blower. I am still trying to ease my way into a love affair with winter ... but it is difficult when you shovel in Kenneth Cole slides. Even the dogs are baffled by the amount of snow; they cannot tell if they have pooped. There is no evidence.

My partner, Gary, tells me to chill. That I have the easiest commute in the U.S. "You walk upstairs in your pajamas. What do you have to bitch about?"

And he's right. But I cannot stop staring into the snow. I can hear it hissing back at me. So I yell at it to stop, but it doesn't obey. So it's time to go and shovel for the 40th time today; but I will do it slides ... or die trying.