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Sitting at the kitchen window, watching the snow come down, I thought it was a beautiful sight to behold.

That reminded me of the snow storm we had here in Fulton a few years ago. I can't remember the month, but I remember the snow.

It seemed the snow would never stop. When it did, the snow was piled in high — and I mean high — drifts. In my mind, I can still see my grandson, Logan, who made a running leap to get to the top of a mound of snow. It took him several tries, but he finally reached the top. As I watched him then, he pretended to be performing on a stage leaning on the shovel as a microphone, he sang, moved his arms, neck and body. Then all of a sudden, he just fell backwards onto the pile of snow at his feet.

What fun he had — but he was suppose to be shoveling.

Soon after his father, my son, George, arrived with his older son, Alex, and a friend. They all had shovels, and the snow piles were attacked. There was so much snow. It was a heavy snow and hard to work with, plus it was so very cold. Before we knew it, darkness was creeping onto the community. George had been at his work at William Woods University, and Alex and his friend had been at school all day and were anxious to get home.

I was truly pleased to get the snow moved so I could get out of my garage and down the driveway, yet I felt a bit guilty. I had orders from my son to stay in the house. Feeling the need to do something besides just standing and watching, I called one of the local pizza places, ordering three pizzas for them to eat for their supper. The pizzas were to be delivered. Thinking ahead, I got my money ready.

The fellows continued to shovel. At some point, George was needing a bit of a rest, as were Alex and his friend. They were getting hungry, so George — without telling me — placed a called on his cell phone ordering pizza. Then he instructed Alex to go to pick it up.

Next thing I knew, the first pizza delivery man arrived. He waded knee high snow drifts to get from his vehicle to my front door. I met him at the door and paid the fellow, giving him a good tip for his work. He had just got back to his car when George got a phone call from Alex stating there was no pizza order ready under that name. It had all ready been delivered.

"How could that be? I just called and there is no pizza here at the house!"

About that time, I poked my head out the door and said there was pizza on the table, so come and eat. Oh what an evening it had turned into.

The fellows came in and pulled off their snow boots. In their stocking feet, they entered the dinning room to warm up and eat their evening meal. When the job of snow shoveling was finally completed, the pizza mix-up became a story to remember for telling later.

Pizza Casserole by Donna McDonald Max ("The Callaway County Cook Book")

1lb ground beef or sausage

10 oz. noodles (cooked and drained)

1 small onion

1 can cheddar cheese soup

1 lb. grated mozzarella cheese

1/2 tbsp. salt

Pepper, to taste

1 qt. Ragu (traditional)

1 green pepper (chopped)

Brown the meat, onions, green pepper, and salt and pepper. Mix with rest of ingredients, saving some mozzarella for the top. Place in casserole dish, top with mozzarella cheese, and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

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