Off the beaten Path:

I sometimes take a circuitous route to shul on Saturday mornings. I go past the place where we used to doven, and then navigate around a few choice landmarks. It's a nice walk. But last week in the snow I realized something about my nostalgic route. Part of it goes where no one else would dream of walking. I know that because, for two whole minutes, I walked on pristine, unplowed snow.

I used to be a boyscout (Shomer Negia):

I was walking to shul in the snow and ice, when I came up to a street corner surrounded by ice and slush. A little nun, perhaps 70, had just left the adjacent church, and was fretting on the sidewalk. She asked me if it was icy where I had been, and I assured her it was. I offered my arm for her to hold – I think this was just a small stretch of Pikuach Nefesh – and she eyed me dubiously. “I used to be a boyscout” I said. She took the arm and we slowly worked our way past the ice and slush. “I'm fine now” she said, and we went our separate ways.