Dear “Winter,” It’s not you, it’s me.
I need to move on. Yes, we’ve had our moments: playing in the snow, baking pies on a chilly afternoon, spending the holidays together (although I never really thought of Saint Patrick’s Day as a “winter” holiday) … but NONETHELESS, you’ve been there. Morning, noon AND NIGHT. Continue reading
OK. I admit the winter uniforms can be outlandish and the analysis a bit tedious at times, but I love to watch the graceful vaulting over the snow . . . The sliding — and occasional falling — on the ice . . . the rising up, again, undaunted. The endurance! The “facing the cold and exhaustion and never ending expanse of snow!” Yes, I am proud, PROUD, of my journalism colleagues and their wall-to-wall storm coverage!
No, I was not talking about the Winter Olympics, although I’m pretty darn sure there should be medals handed out for the longest live-shot, worst broadcast conditions, and most man-on-the-street interviews (I’d put in for that one). Continue reading
Heather Bosch's Man Cave 