A delightful morning spent chipping the ice sheet off the port-swiller driveway, aided and abetted, or at least thoroughly interfered with, by the youngest gel, who insisted on helping out by wielding the large broom in my wake.

As I worked, I was reminded again, rayther painfully, that I simply do not have a really warm pair of gloves.  So that even as parts of the person were working up a sweat, the fingertips were once again dancing perilously close to frostbite.

Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated.