Yesterday was full of gallivanting.  The grocery stores were full of milk and bread buyers anticipating the big snow.  We headed out to Max Patch, 4,616 ft in elevation, to sled down the mountain.  Of course we did not sled down 4,616 ft, but more like 200 ft.  200 painful snow-in-the-face feet.  The gallivanting on the way was the best part.  So much snow and not a lot of wind, you could almost hear the beauty.  Seriously.  We were seeking beautiful pleasure and a diversion from a boring day inside, and we found it.  The boys found it by holding onto a rope tied to the truck and tubing downhill.  

Right when your gallivanting reaches a conclusion, it is no longer called gallivanting, I suppose.