14°f, -10°C this morning, with light snowing continuing until noon.
The promised snow arrived, leaving 3 inches of new fluffiness on top of the earlier 13", which hasn't melted. It has packed down a bit, so we have about 15" on the ground now. Today warmed up to 30°f, and the icicles I have been watching grow in front of the window added a good 6" to their length. Larry has been knocking down the ones on the back of the house, but I asked him to leave these. I just love seeing the sun glint on them.
No more snow is predicted until at least next weekend, and with a slight warming trend this week we should see the mounds begin to shrink.
You know I have been enjoying this snow! I mean, it has been years since we have had such weather, and I have to wonder if I will see it again in my lifetime, given climate change. So I am taking much pleasure now, storing away as many memories and pictures as I can. I know many people are complaining about it, especially those who must drive in it, but for me it is an unexpected delight.
I still haven't been off the sidewalks though, and even those are tricky and icy. Larry, bless him, says each morning he's not going to go out any more than he has to...and then spends several hours mucking about out there. And he loves it too, coming in a ruddy-cheeked and smiling. Last year we built a snowman, but haven't done that yet this year. Maybe tomorrow. We shall see.
I did very little today, even slept in until 9am. And I do mean slept. The pill for nerve pain, combined with Tylenol PM has made good, solid sleep possible again at last. It's amazing how much good sleep does for one! Until late afternoon, I actually thought today was Sunday, so I was taking it slow; for some reason it seems perfectly acceptable to me to be a little lazy on Sundays. But I did do a little cleaning, canned 5 pints of venison, and finished my book, so I guess I redeemed myself a bit. And tomorrow I can be lazy again, right?
It wasn't a great read, just an average murder mystery set at Christmas time. It was disappointing because although the author tried to provide all kinds of suspenseful atmosphere, he did not leave all those enticing clues that good mysteries scatter about, which allow the reader to form theories about whodunit as they read. Another thing: when the characters are gathered for a meal, there were no details of what they ate. Okay, a small thing, but if they are having breakfast at an English manor house, don't you want to know if they had ham and mushrooms and baked beans and so on? Or if they are at the local pub, what they're drinking? Or if wandering in a garden, what flowers or shrubs surround them? Those kinds of details are important, I think, to paint a vivid scene.
Right now our house is so quiet. My CD of Celtic music has ended (we still play CDs here), and Larry is sleeping. Little Boy is curled up in a corner, Buddy is sleeping in Larry's chair, and Clyde the cat and Daisy are on the rug in front of the stove. The crackle of the fire and Daisy's snoring are the only sounds. I think it is time for me to join the sleeping crew myself.
Good night, all.
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