There's a couple of inches of snow on the ground; the skies are quiet not but they assure me there's more snow in the offing.
It is perhaps sad that I have come to loathe even the clean, white, new-fallen snow, this its delicate white blanket, so fluffy and smooth, arouses a crawling sensation between my shoulder blades and the dull heat of remembered pain in my lower backs. I take comfort in remembering that curmudgeonly William Hazlett mused contentedly, nearly two centuries ago, On The Pleasures Of Hating, an essay recommended by his modern-day fellow-essayist Florence King. I believe a related (however distantly) concept has developed among persons serving in the military: "Embrace the suck," which is perhaps the only way to wade through the vengeful, ragged Napoleon's-retreat-from-Russia of Winter's final efforts against onrushing Time: Hate it, enjoy hating it, and keep moving; if you stop, it wins.
For my first move today, I'm making French Toast. Who's with me?
2 months ago