Too many, too much

We woke up this morning to a foot of snow. God spent a few hours last night covering Summit County up, and we spent all day shoveling back-breaking, dense, heavy piles of the stuff. By turns, I have felt exhilerated by the fact that I am out in it, physically fit enough to be able to do it, glad to be doing a job where the results of my efforts are so readily apparent, and cursing the man who first thought to wrap a horizontal apron of wood around the second story of his house (yes, it would have to be a man) so he would not have to walk downstairs to pop a top and position himself in a cool, breezy spot. Ok, maybe it was a woman, but if it was, it was one of leisure, not one who ever had to worry about falling kids, maintaining the thing, keeping it clean and clear... in places, it was two feet deep, some of the heaviest snow I have moved in a while.
But now we are home, and tonight is a big night. Every year, when the weather moves in and nobody wants to do anything but sit and vegetate in the evenings, we have our trilogy marathon. We start with Star Wars, a movie an evening for a week, then move on to The Lord of the Rings, then Indiana Jones. For comedy, we will force ourselves through the three Austen Powers movies, then for contrast, watch the Terminators, although the first one is the only one actually worth our time. Then, in the spirit of really bad sequels, Scream 1, 2, and 3. Then, we may even move on to the...two-logies? The Mummy 1 and 2, Men in Black 1 and 2, The Borne Identity and The Borne Supremacy, American Graffiti 1 and 2, even though the second one is really a waste of time, sometimes you have to suffer through a bad movie for the sake of continuity... The Man from Snowey River 1 and 2. (The ones who grew up watching them say they're wonderful movies. I've never been able to sit through the first one, let alone the second one. Maybe it's time.) and by then, it is Thanksgiving, and the Thanksgiving Bond-a-thon is on cable, a week that the girls in the house spend in mockery, and everyone tries to imitate Roger Moore's accent. Then, if no one has begun having seisures from too much TV, we may watch TV seasons on DVD, Alias, Lost, 24, Scrubs... and by then it is Christmas, and the twelve days of Bond are back. And this very evening, my friends, is where it all begins. R2D2 is beeping his displeasure from the surround speakers downstairs, the theme tune in the background is one that, after last year's trilogy marathon, is finally no longer running through my head with maddening insistance. For a week, we will be doing really annoying Darth Vader impressions and humming that dang song. I told them to start without me, while I finished up on the computer... almost sacriligious, not being present for the opening of our winter tradition, so I must get downstairs and fight for a spot on the couch. I have included a picture of this cold, miserable place, just in case anyone is wishing for snow at the moment. It is a small portion of the wrap around deck we shoveled before coming home this evening, and the main reason my back is screaming at me to go find a couch and stop hunching over the keyboard. So, goodbye for now! And may the Force be with you...