It's a tale of two Marches. As I write this, it is 83 degrees and the sun is shining. Flowers are blooming or have bloomed. Folks are mowing the yard. Yes, it's the first day of spring. But it feels like it started a month ago. The normal high for today is in the high 50s. Well, the high 50s would have been a blessing if this were March 20th, 1996.

Hard to believe it's been 16 years since that huge mid-March snowstorm that dropped about 15 inches on our heads and socked us all in. Even harder to believe considering how warm it's been for the last week and a half or so.

I remember that week in '96. I was house-sitting for my parents. They were spending a month in Florida. No biggy, I guess, to have everything you need and nowhere you really NEED to go, except work. But, then, there was a fly in the ointment. And it wouldn't have been that big a deal except for...well, let me explain.

My sister and nephew decided to join my parents in Florida for that week, so I offered to watch her dog, Rosie. Rosie was solid white and not just a little mischievous. None of that was a problem. But one day, while all that snow was on the ground, I took her for a walk and she got away from me. So, there I was, in the predicament of finding an all-white dog in 15 inches of snow. And this wasn't a dog that would come when you called. So I had to trudge up and down the neighborhood essentially looking for two black eyes. I found 'em and was not happy with the pooch they belonged to.

And then it sunk in...why is all my family Florida while I'm stuck under an avalanche? Such was life. 83 degrees would have sounded very nice in 1996.