Is there nothing to do but wax dramatic and corny about the experience of snow when you live in a valley that so rarely sees any, let alone several inches? What else would I write about? Wintry white weather has ransacked the airwaves, social media and every conversation.

“So, how are you, Matilda?”

“I’m fine. What about this snow? How much did you get?”

Local meteorologists Matt and Sara at KDRV are downright giddy. Can you blame them? They’re in the spotlight, and I’m grateful.

When you’re born and raised a Left Coaster, snowfall is entertainment … for a time. I’m trying not to obsess over it, yet I keep checking the forecast. It’s pretty, as are the visiting deer, and less traffic is welcome. However, I did lose two trees. Granted, they were compromised trees that were possibly slated for elimination anyway and no collateral damage occurred. Now I am grounded. My wings have been clipped. I can hear my kitchen clock ticking. Weekend plans could face peril.

You mean, I might have to write my book?

Edward and Cricket, the cat duo, have become increasingly grumpy with one another and with me. All they do is sleep, eat and look out the window wishing they had a toboggan. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much all they ever do.

Yesterday and today, I pulled on muck boots, parka and a helmet (I wish) and went around knocking snow from heavy laden branches. The feeling of pluck warmed me. I feel like Polly Pioneer when I do things like that.

Also, bringing in a load of firewood and starting a fire gives me that “Little House on the Prairie” vibe. Where’s Pa with the fiddle? I may bake cornbread in a homespun dress.

Snow is harder on some.

My friend Sandy who lives out past Cantrall-Buckley Park was without power for over 24 hours and sat huddled by her fireplace darning socks, without cornbread. Then there are the vultures. Oh, you thought I was kidding before when I said I saw some frosty beaked visitors a few weeks ago. They are nuts. I thought they had flown back to Fresno for the Greek Festival or someplace, but no. They’re still here.

This morning while window-gazing, I noticed a great hulking object perched at the highest point of my vulture tree. It wasn’t moving, so I thought maybe it had died in place, thereby providing a frozen-solid reminder to vultures everywhere to check the calendar before takeoff.

I went upstairs with binoculars for a better look out the guest room window and sure enough, there were about four of the ill-timed scavengers huddled and praying for sun. They may have been drawing straws to see who had to go in search of something wandering the snow fields on its last legs.

Finally, at about 10:30 a.m., they all decided to chance it. I’m concerned for them with the forecast lows, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s tough being a vulture mom, and a hummingbird mom. I haven’t seen much action around the office coolers.

It’s snowing like mad again. Like mad, I tell you.

If you’re thawed out by Saturday night (Feb. 8), shake off the flakes and pay a visit to Moxie Brew in Phoenix. The Shabby Guys, a highly professional and talented jazz group and a favorite of mine will (hopefully) be bringing comfort out of the cold from 6 to 8 p.m. My talented buddy Lane Hall will join them on congas and other percussion instruments.

I’ve never been to Moxie, though some say I have more than I need; or maybe it was gall that I had too much of. Anyway, I’m looking forward to live music and trying some of their home-brewed libations and tasty eats.

And now, an impromptu poem to make the white stuff cease and the warm stuff increase. Repeat this on your back porch and click your heels together three times:

“Snow, oh, snow, please fly off yonder.

The vultures are freezing, of sunshine they’re fonder.

Sun, oh, sun come out to shine

And warm up the vultures so that they may dine

On all the dead critters

So ripe and subline(m)e.”

No eye-rolling now. You want your eyeballs to freeze that way?