I have been taken to task by several different readers for Failure to Blog and I told them that it was for their own protection: If I'd written anything in the past week and a half, it would all center on the weather; the ice, the snow, the cold, the wind, the ice, the ice, the snow and the wind. It's been just awful and to prove how truly terrible it has been, let me just say that I, for the first time, TOTALLY UNDERSTAND AND SYMPATHIZE WITH Jack Nicholson in The Shining when he got all wolf-grinny and bug-eyed with that axe.
This picture was taken out of my laundry room window, which ordinarily looks out at the back of the two really charming houses behind ours. One is a dainty wee jewel box of a Queen Anne; the other is a Craftsman cottage that has climbing roses on the back in the summer. Both are half-buried, and although it's hard to tell from this image, the snow is waaaay too deep for any of our cars to park back there. Probably eight or nine inches. Plus an easy three inches of solid ice.
We may not be able to park back there until, like, JULY.
Things like this meddle with my sense of well-being.
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