It snowed overnight just over an inch which might make it possible to snowshoe tomorrow morning. Maybe. It's really not enough snow for good traction but maybe it snowed more at Barkhausen. (oh, yeah, I'm sure it snowed a couple more inches five miles up the pike, tsk) I really want to go though. I've been indoors and felt too crappy the last couple months; it's time to get out and get out of breath a bit in the fresh air.
Saw the doc this morning and she said, "you reacted exactly opposite to that thyroid med." I exercised great restraint in not saying "I told you so weeks ago." She wants to leave open the possibility of a cardiologist visit. For what??? CYA? I don't see the point after Monday's festivities gave me a clean bill of health--normal BP, normal heart, normal everything. Maybe she's worried about her job. Maybe she figures everyone over 60 has to have something. Sorry, lady, not me, not yet anyway.
On a happier note I got my tiny tire taken off and replaced by the repaired big one. I thought that the bitter cold had made my tire flat. Nope. It was a 4" long spike of a nail. Where I picked it up, I do not know, but I'm keeping it the hell away from my tire. And, no, I don't make it a habit to offroad through construction sites.
January 25--Anthony van Dyck, Saint Rosalie Interceding for the Plague-Stricken of Palermo. "Look how pathetic they are" she seems to be saying. "How can you turn away from their wretchedness?" The bald baby angel peering out from behind her is looking at her like she's nuts and the one on her left looks like he's thinking "I'm not touching them." There's one flying on a cloud coming behind her with a wreath of flowers for her hair. I suppose in those days, 1624 to be exact, not many people could read so they painted the stories but couldn't they find a cheerful one? Just once? Palmer and Cleo walked slowly through the museum gallery trying to find a painting that didn't have saints or demons or war. It was a long day.
Okay, that's it for me. It's almost time to pack up my projects to go to knitting night. Hasta la vista, babies.