At least that's what the weather-guessers are predicting. There's a lot of Chicken Little-style hysteria flying around up here. You'd think we live in some southern state. It's WISCONSIN, people. Wisconsin, where we are proud when it's too damned cold outside and we're out there going about our business anyway. Wisconsin, where every car has jumper cables and some sort of shovel in the back. I don't understand the flapping and bleating that surrounds storms that have taken aim on the region. We've got trucks that spread salt or sand on roads, trucks with big plows on the front, a snowblower in every second garage, and most of us have enough "padding" that we're not going to starve if we get stuck someplace for a while. I'm off to pick up Porter and let her drag me on a walk. She needs extra exercise, last week she chewed through the carpet and pad, down to the sub-floor, in the sunroom where she spends her days, so I decided to do my part a couple days a week and take her out for a longer walk than DS can manage before work early in the morning.
February 27--Don Silvestro dei Gherarducci, Initial G with the Birth of the Virgin. "It's a good day when babies come," Maura said to no one in particular. Sadie laughed. "Only if you're on the one laboring on the bed." Every woman's head nodded, remembering the hard work to bringing life into this world. The women were crammed into one medium sized room on the lower floor of the school building. They had been there for weeks, ever since the storm plowed through town. Maura had just helped Luann Harper deliver her fourth. Luann's husband, Mike, was on the cleanup crew since the...zzzzzz.
That's when I conked off. I have a vague recollection of turning off the light, etc. but nothing else. I was tired. I had all of 6 customers yesterday. Poor me. Gotta run and get in a walk before the flakes start to fly. (The picture is of a previous Storm of the Century that fizzled.)