As we sink deeper into our cushy chairs indoors in complete warmth and watch the consistantly blowing 20 mile-per-hour winds, it has me taken back to what I as a kid used to do in days like this. As a child of the 80's, I was never held down to the shock value of possible frostbite and impending illness because I wanted to be outside.

Gone are the days of making snowmen and forts underneath the mountains of snow. If you lived in a neighborhood with a large hill, or a succession of moguls that would make your intertube fly out from under you when you were coasting at what seemed like 30 miles per hour, you were in luck!

My dad would plow the snow high along the driveway, and I would get a few friends together for a version of "Goal Line Stand", as we all tried to jump over the imaginary 300-pound linemen that was the snow bank. The pillowy snow on the other side would always soften the blow once we made the end zone. Of course, when your dad is the area's observer for the National Weather Service (and I'm not making it up), he'd keep me on my toes. If we had more than just two or three in our group, we'd go to an open field just down the road and play tackle football, layered in about three sets of sweats and long johns.

With Monday's deep freeze continuing into today, I'm half-tempted to take a flying leap into snowdrift, just to keep me young and remind myself what I was able to do when I was younger. If you find a figment of a snow angel outside, you might need to get me out!