Nostalgia, DVDs, old movies, television, OTR, fandom, good news and bad, picks, pans,
cute budgie stories, cute terrier stories, and anything else I can think of.
Contact me at yetanotherjournal (at) mindspring (dot) com
. . . . .
. . . . .
» Tuesday, March 14, 2017Winter Hangs On
After a fitful winter where the temperatures have pretty much not gotten under fifty and have hovered around 70 several times, it's now disconcerting to have nearly a week of highs in the forties and, later in the week, fifties. Sunday and Monday were grey and damp, with a sharp edge to the wind, and it continued today, with the wind's sharpness unchecked; in fact it might have been even colder today, with the occasional snowflake coming out of nowhere and grazing the cheek. Covered in flannelette and layered in flannel, for serious expeditions (like dog-walking) I am bundled in my heaviest jacket with the hood and a lined hat, but I have also dashed outside in the wonderful garment I got at Hallmark last summer, a woolly square which can be a scarf, a shoulder throw, a shawl, and even, unfolded all the way, a light throw. It is surprisingly warm, if not as large as the shawl pictured here.
When James got home I ran out to help him with the chair with it in shawl format, half covering my head, feeling like Jo March running out to the post office box between the Marches and the Lawrences to see what treasures there were today.
Even Tucker has eschewed his usual begging to go outside or run outside on the deck to lie curled up in a tight ball: this morning I found him in James' computer chair, this morning he was in his "cave" on a chair under the dining room table, and this afternoon he was snuggled up on his fleece in front of the hearth, nose firmly tucked into his flank and tail wrapped around his haunches. He didn't even follow me downstairs when I took the laundry down and discovered the heat was off downstairs; not sure how that happened, but it was 59°F down there!
Since it is Daylight Wasting Time I still have ample illumination to stare out the back windows and watch the wind tossing the trees with their brown leaves still attached. It's been a funny spring, with half the trees blooming, budding, or leafing, and the rest still twiggy and bare, showing their skeletons to the world, or holding on to the faded copper remnants of last year's raiment. Looks bleak and sad, but still better than the 78 it's going to be next week (ugh).