‘Mister Joe,’ we kids called him. And Mister Joe would come over to our house for Christmas and Thanksgiving, always by himself. He was nice but a...ways seemed lonely. Never knew much about him. Then one Saturday when I was eight or nine years old, this was in the mid-1960s, my father took me to Mister Joe’s apartment. I think my father had loaned him money or something because Mister Joe handed him an envelope when we got there.“Anyway, Mister Joe lived on the third floor of an old red brick. I glowed internally at his response, as if it had been a signal of recognition, coded for support and encouragement. No way would I not follow up with more. "Converging fronts could make for a fun day, eh Brad?," I offered."Yup, and there's no way we're going to escape this mother," he said. The frontal system extends all the way back to BC, and it's close and heading this. Low pressure, cold temperatures, and lots of moisture. Snow, snow, and more snow."He shook his head and said: "Well, we've. More

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