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It started snowing here early on Sunday morning, and by the time I got out to go to church, there was at least four inches on the ground -- not a lot of snow, but enough to say that we were actually going to have some winter this year.

The Colts played on Sunday evening. It was an exciting game -- I watched it with the cats and the dog, and we almost turned it off when they were down by 18 points, as one could easily imagine the ribbing and disappointment. Instead, they ended up ahead in the last minute, making it a quite thrilling game and the town has been glowing blue ever since.

As far as I can tell, nobody died from any rioting or other exuberant celebrations. This is a midwestern city, and we are politely thrilled -- everybody except the woman whose foot was run over by an angry fellow who wanted the parking space where she stood. This was before the game and she was saving it for somebody else who was circling the block. At least that's her side of the story. Whether she was in the right or not, I always think it best in these situations to defer to the nautical law of tonnage, particularly when it comes to a person standing in front of a SUV. Points may be proven later in a court of law, but the human foot has such little protection from a Ford Explorer or whatever the man was driving. And I always think drivers should recognize that driving over any part of a person or animal intentionally is not acceptable in a civilized society. Alas.

Another neighbor had to put down their cat this past weekend, and at the museum where I work, we laid to rest one of our beloved ox, a fellow named Broad who had weighed in at 2400 pounds but probably died much heavier. Broad and his teammate Rusty came from Maine, where the New England region keeps alive oxen training. They are massive animals, bulked up for strength, and with each step demonstrate their rippling muscles. Oxen are whales of the land. Broad was carried by a tractor and backhoe to his resting place on our grounds.

Because this is our first snow of the year, I am having to make some kind of adjustment -- when gentle breezes float across snow, they tend to be colder breezes, bone-chilling gusts. I am grateful that I shoveled the drive and walk on Sunday -- now that what is left is frozen hard, it would be harder to do so. The Colonel, my next door neighbor, is the person on the townlet council who decides whether or not to call out the contracted snow plower. Four inches is the threshold, and it was a judgment call. On Sunday, he said yes, and so Franklin the dog and I have been able to make walks all week without resorting to sliding and my fear of falling on a patch of ice.

Last week, I ended up in New York City on a job interview -- and as fate would have it, partner was out of town on a long planned trip. So I had the odd experience of staying in his apartment without his being there. Yesterday, I got a call offering me the job, so I will be moving soon to New York. I can't wait to be a same city household again.

And so we will be leaving the townlet. It has been an adventure, our Hoosier adventure. Another chapter looms ahead. Maybe I will have to change this blog to Hands Missing the Dirt.