My sister came up yesterday with weapons of ice destruction to help me attack a plow pile that had gotten out of hand over the last month. We kicked some serious butt and got it down to where people can drive over it without risking damage to their vehicles, which is good, because both my sister and my neighbor's sister need to be able to park in my driveway next weekend.
While we were attacking the snow and ice, one of the neighbors walked by -- the one who haaaates snow, hates living in Vermont, and seems to expect everyone else to share his opinions about weather. I make a point to be cheerful about the snow and the process of shifting it every time I see him, and he looks confused every time. I don't think he can wrap his brain around the possibility of someone finding something positive enough about shoveling to not constantly gripe about it. But hey, it keeps my muscles in shape, and I like snow a heck of a lot more than rain (snow, at least, you can move to somewhere more convenient if there's too much of it -- rain just destroys things if there's too much of it), so I'm not going to complain about having to shovel a few times a week for a few months out of the year.
I did move to Vermont on purpose, after all. Twice.