For an overly energetic West Michigan child of the 1980s, summer was a breeze. Each day consisted of one simple step: roll out of bed and head to Lake Michigan. After that, just jump into, over, under and through waves until the sun sets. Wrap it up by heading home (inadvertently covering everything you encounter in a thick layer of sand), sleep and repeat. Easy Winters, on the other hand, took skill and strategy. The layers upon layers of flannel, the trek to a snow-covered hill or ice-covered lake, the inevitable white-washing (thanks, older brother), and the celebratory hot cocoa (or should I say, cup of tiny marshmallows melded together in gooey harmony with a drop or two of cocoa on top) all required a bit more. This planning and seeking felt special and added to the sense of adventure.