And now it's snowing. The sky looked and felt like a thick woolen blanket this morning so I guess I can say that it's shedding. Yeah, let's call those flaky things floating down shedding, like angora yarn does all over your black capris when you're knitting a blankie for your first grandchild. I don't think it's supposed to shed much today. Tomorrow they're talking about rain into sno...shedding, not my favorite weather forecast.
Especially since I'm driving a couple hours north up the Door peninsula to spend a weekend with some Grand Old (writing) Broads. (It's why I made all that bread,) I spent way more time than I thought I would last night deciding what to bring for the roundtable on Saturday. Only the pile on the left (don't panic, Les GOBs), the rest emblazoned with the giant orange Post-its are for thinking about. There's a lot of thinking to this writing thing. Sometimes thinking is hard.
Whenever I go to a writing workshop I take a little sweet something for my roomie. This time I have a new roomie (I already warned her about the snoring that seems to follow me around) so I'm taking her a handmade washcloth. To make it look more like a present I folded it pretty and tied it up with a ribbon. I hope she likes it. I'd put a bar of soap with it but our Fearless Leader is highly sensitive to fragrances.
There was a trio of squirrels having corn for breakfast this morning. I think the squirrels look extra cute in winter when they've got their thick coats on and they look a lot more like animated stuffed animal than their scrawny, summer selves do. I think they look mangy and a bit rabid in the summer but in the winter they're cute--except when they chase the birds off the feeders, then they're back to being tree rats.
January 7--Carl Schneider, Biking. Louisa had left her motel room just as the edge of the sun lifted out of the lake. She walked the trail along the shore away from the organized fun of the resort and turned inland just past the campsites. A few other early risers had lit fires to brew coffee. The mingled wood smoke and coffee aromas seemed to belong with the scent of pines and the cold smell of the big lake. She had been exploring the area for a week, walking the trails, finding small clearings in the woods, and places along the shore where she felt like the only one for miles. Today she was headed to a small beach just big enough for one. Only a few steps off the trail she could sit in the rocky sand with her back propped on a log to drink her thermos of coffee and read.
I had big plans for a big bike rally to come screaming by but fell asleep. I've got a load of laundry to toss in the dryer and get ready for work. Seeyabye.