Who Was That Masked Man?

This morning just before heading out to church I decided I had better sweep the verandah, step and wheelchair ramp. I layered on my black cape over my Sunday-appropriate purple wool jacket, wearily grabbing the broom again (the one with the rubber-handled grip which is supposed to make it "so much easier" to sweep, according to the Costco check-out child. "How?" I asked him. He said, "Like ... it's not just a wood handle!" Ah.) and made my way outside.

Suddenly, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a big pick-up truck and a man full of cheer.

He was bundled from head to toe, only his twinkling eyes and his flashing smile visible. Oh, and some big pack on his back.

"Out the way!" he called, and fired up his weaponry.

I scuttled back into the tea house and this person - far more welcome on a crispy, frosty Sunday morning than St Nick himself - went to work, blowing all the snow from the steps, the ramp, and even the base of the building.

I was late and so I grabbed my purse, exited the building cautiously and jumped into Deb's car, thanking him profusely. He waved and grinned and kept right at it.

I have no idea who he was; but if you know this masked man, blue and yellow jacket, twinkly eyes and mischievous smile, tell him the Tea Bag thanks him from the bottom of her frozen heart ...