Oh, if only that had been what the nice man inside my TV had said. He didn't; he said, "An ice storm," and it's freezing raining or sleeting outside right now, a steady susurrus of tiny little Faerie hailstones just at the cusp of freezing hard enough to clatter like the sands of time, piling up in corners and clefts in a hit-melt-refreeze cycle that bodes ill for the dawn.
As in, might not have juice. Might not have DSL
Temperatures are supposed to climb pretty rapidly tomorrow; all this mess should be in the storm drains by noon. Between now and noon -- ah, there's the adventure. Or something.
For now, the trash is out, the laundry is running, Tam has volunteered the Subie as Emergency Back-Up Vehicle Du Jour Of The Day and I'm getting on the outside of a bowl of warm beef stew, revved up with chickpeas,* diced red bell pepper, chives and a splash of hot sauce. I'm prewarming the bed with an electric blanket, just in case.
Maybe it'll just be a nice storm. Guess I'll find out.
* I admit it: I love 'em. Chickpeas, ceci, garbanzos, whatever you call 'em. They were my favorite ingredient in umpteen-bean soup and the Indians (East) do marvelous things with them. Hot, cold, buttered or spiced, they're one of my comfort foods, especially on a cold and stormy night.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
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