Once again, we're supposed to get off fairly light. Three to five inches, rather than another foot or foot and a half. But travel plans are likely to get screwed up.

Drove into town this afternoon (trying to get the family Christmas letter printed up... yes, I know it's late), and found our town's police chief parked at the southern edge of town, next to the tracks.

Stopped to see if he was okay, of course.

He was fine. They'd had several accidents on the interstate already, just east of town, as the storm moves in. Highway Patrol is already busy. So the Chief is sitting here, watching the two miles of interstate between our two exits.

Just waiting for a wreck.

As I drove the Lincoln highway into town, I wasn't sure if that information made me happy?

Or worried?

Happy, because there is so little for the police to do in our little town that they spend their time watching two miles of interstate highway, waiting for an accident to happen.

Or worried, because the storm has made driving the interstate so treacherous that the police chief figures all he has to do is sit and wait, and he'll be the first respondent to an accident on our short little stretch of two miles.