And covered the world in puffy white flakes. Then the snowplow came to barricade us into our homes. *sigh* Good thing I have the snowblower because it's about 37 degrees and raining out there. I think I'll wait until the rain lets up before I go out to move the quickly-melting, back-breakingly-heavy snow. Maybe I'll get the laundry started while I wait for the weather to choose a season and stick with it.
Look at the cool, repetitive patterns the snow made on the fence along the back. I think the ones along the bottom look like the shapes of Persian carved windows.
The birdies were glad to see me this morning, glad that I'd refilled all the feeders and plugged the birdbath heater back in. My yog-ing was distracted by flocks of sparrows, those middle-school gangs of the bird world, coming to the feeder and then flying off with no provocation. The mourning doves are the same staid, old church lady birds they've always been. I think they act like they've had one too many concussions, always a beat behind the other birds, looking around in confusion when the sparrows all suddenly fly away. Good thing the doves are too big for the hawk to subdue because I think they'd all be lunch. They epitomize "clueless." But then look at me, ascribing personalities to birds. Is that what I'm supposed to be thinking about when I'm doing the Sphinx Pose? Probably not.
I tried to start a fancy dishcloth pattern last night when visiting a friend but it starts with Judy's Magic Cast On and I need a YouTube video and zero distractions to get that one right. Luckily I had more Cotton Ease in my bag (why they discontinued it, I will never understand, it's perfect for chemo caps, soft and machine wash and dryable) so I started another chemo cap. This is a great way to use up the scraps from the Sudoku afghan. (No, I haven't finished knitting the joining strips for the blocks of squares. I'll cast on the next one later today, I promise, cross my heart. It's just so booooooring, I leap onto any random project that looks barely interesting to avoid knitting those endless black strips. But I'll start and work on the next one today. Really. After I make chicken soup, snowblow, and while the wash is flopping around.)
January 10--Vincent van Gogh, The Night Cafe in Arles. Not a calming room, Rita thought as she ducked through the swagged curtain doorway. Not with the red walls and grass green ceiling. In fact it made her kind of woozy but that could also have been the rush of cigarette, or worse, smoke that hit her lungs on her first breath. The French sure weren't worried about their lungs, not the way they all went around with lit cigarettes. It's a wonder they don't all go up in flames. All talk ceased as she paused in the doorway to let her eyes adjust. Coming into a well-lit room from the dark meant your eyes had to adjust just like going from light to dark. The first thing she saw was a ring of dark eyes staring at her through the haze. Even the man at the pool table paused with his cue ready to take a shot. Rita dropped her eyes and sought out an empty table nearby, ordering "un cafe, s'il vous plait" as she passed the waiter.
Man, sleeping until almost 8:30 sure shortens your morning. I keep thinking it's about 9 o'clock (although that could be the dim, gray light) when in reality it's closer to noon. Time to fling some dirty clothes around and start soup simmering.