As you know by now, I grew up in Southern California, where the worst weather can usually be described as "lots of rain" or "kind of cold."Conditions that don't even have a real name. So snow? It still kind of freaks me out, even after having lived her for more than six years. The first time I had to actually live in snowy weather, as opposed to having gotten to ski in it for a weekend or play in it for a day, I was sort of thrown for a loop. I'm still getting used to the notion of walking through a park full of fluffy white drifts in work clothes instead of in ski gear. Today, though, I shoveled snow. It's one thing to dart from my apartment to the subway to my office after somebody else has already done the dirty work, but homeowners in the suburbs don't have much of a choice. One of them was happy to hand over the shovel for a while this afternoon, and despite having dashed from a show to a rehearsal to another show then to a train to Connecticut, I somehow found the energy to make the driveway clear enough to not stall a car, dirty a sneaker or confuse a chipmunk.