Clete Boyer came to mind.
I couldn't help but run back in this morning for the camera to catch the icing on the dead purple cone flowers, sunflowers and mums in my wife's front garden.
The trees were stunningly beautiful too this morning, unexpectedly so.
Last night, I thought we had escaped anything too nasty. Before going to bed, I checked, and the sidewalks and road were fine. I threw a little sand on our steps and porch so our oldest boy would not go flying on his ass as he ran back late, as usual, from his girlfriend's.
Then the morning ramble with Storm turned into quite an adventure. The sidewalk only looked wet, but about the third time I nearly went flying on my own ass, I realized that there was virtually no difference between the wet spots and black ice. So I finally just crunched through the ice-encrusted leftover snow.
And thought that it would have been smart to wear my ice-fishing cleats, it was slicker out than ice fishing on a 35-degree day. It amused me to think of clinking around town and the town pond with cleats on, not that I'm not already considered a little different by some of the neighbors.
At least in my head, that led logically to thoughts of Clete Boyer, who I knew had a long career. I just did not realize how long until I looked his stats up on Baseball-Reference.com. He had a 17-year run in the major leagues.
I always thought he was a pro who went about his job in a businesslike manner. I would hope I do the same.
The feeder up front needed filling. It seemed like the Christmas thing to do and sprinkle some extra around. The suet basket needed refilling, too. I will give squirrels credit for this, they have the sense to stay inside on days like this.
I, on the other hand, have one last bit of shopping and a column to finish.