That's my Tim in the photo.  This was taken near our house in Seattle during one of our rare snow days.  And that's Bailey's with very little coffee in his travel cup. 

Tim was rare, illusive, a real life snow man - he never complained about snow, he loved it, and would stay up late into the night to watch it fall, hoping it'd be measured in feet, sometimes (dangerously) waking me to tell me it's "snowing to beat shit!", excited to go out and just be in it.  Even cancer couldn't keep him inside if it was snowing. 

That cancer year we had lots of snow, a fluke.  Tim had lost his hair and about 25 lbs but he bundled up in his old ski clothes to help any foolish driver stuck while trying to go up our hilly street.  He'd enthusiastically give them instructions, direct them with wild hand signals and waving arms, sometimes pushing the front end of their car around with his body to aim their vehicle downhill so they could creep off slowly to find a more level route.  He didn't do this because he wanted to be their hero - he didn't expect a friendly wave as they'd drive off or even a thank-you, it just made him feel good to be out in the snow and helping strangers kept him warm.