What a storm! It blasted us, POW, right up the wazzoo. Walloped and whamed, roared and raged, growled and groaned and left us with snow banks and backs soar from shoveling. Our landlord worked through the night with his snow soldier mercenaries. After bobcats, blowers, powerful plows and sufficient saliation we awoke to find a gorgeous winter wonder land draped in marshmellowy icing, a frosted word where everyone was burried... except us. We had a clear parking lot with blacktop showing, clear stairs, and carefully hand cleared around our cars. All that was left for us was our own vehicles hoods and windows. This tireless champion of a landlord is no strapping young man full of piss and vinegar to burn, but his heart apparently still is. Before I used to quietly nod a hello as I passed, and now when I see is silvery hair bobbing in the back alley toiling away I am honored to go out of my way and happily shake his hand. Many thanks! —Thougtful Each Night Atlantic Ns Turns Stormy