So, earlier, I awoke, arose, fed the cats, ran the dishwasher and snacked on ibuprofen and Cheerios™. Posted something on my blog and the Book of Face and went back to bed. That rather quickly attracted cats and we all napped off and on until an hour ago, TV murmuring gently, "Stay home. Stay indoors. Pray the Frost Giants do not find you," which struck me as sound, sensible advice.
Sensible it was, but sooner or later all good things come to an end. Hydraulics being a good servant but an unyielding master, eventually I had to get up again. What the heck, coffee was made and in the thermal carafe, might as well get to it: I have sorted and started laundry and made and devoured a nice bacon-and-egg sandwich.
Also made a cat-sized peephole in the frost on Huck's favorite window, cautioning him to not get his little cat nose frozen to the glass.
Across the way, there's a man shoveling his sidewalk. He looks far too lightly dressed for the job, but who am I to judge? That's between him and his dermatologist. I am not so much tempted myself, other than possibly trying the "toss a cup of boiling water in the air and it flashes to snow" trick. It appears even those carriers unstayed in the swift completion of their appointed rounds by "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" are, in fact, put right off their feed by -40° wind chills* with a 99% chance of frostbite and I can't say I blame them a bit. With that and the official "stay home" decree in mind, there appears to be little reason to shovel the front walk just yet.
* Minus forty degrees, minus forty degrees,
How I admire thee, forty negatee,
Neither requiring nor needing an F or a C.
(© 2014, me)
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
9 months ago