There were ice slides.

And pony rides.  And very substandard hot chocolate, but never mind that right now.  Bottom line is, took the day off to do winter wonderland stuff with the kids.

And read the Coolidge biography too, of course.  Which is shaping up to being HATED by everybody who you’d expect to hate it.  The NYT review alone reeks of the bitterness that only a man who cannot write a best-seller can generate towards an ideological opposite who can.