S-s-s-six Degrees

And not "of separation from Kevin Bacon" either, just six tiny degrees on the Fahrenheit scale.  That's how warm it was when I went to work and it was three (THREE!) degrees when I left at 5:10 PM.  I did not check to see what the wind chill was.  Did. Not.


I will not be putting a slip of paper extolling today's good weather in the Good Things jar.  I will probably put in a slip about the sunshiny day or maybe that I had a bunch of really nice customers this afternoon but the temperature will not be getting a "good things" mention.  That little blue envelope has some narrow strips of paper I made using my beloved guillotine so I'm ready when the good comes to call.



Here's how far I am on the Cascade Hermaness hat.  I keep thinking I'll make great strides on it at work and then I end up having to work at work all day.  What's up with that?  Although I suppose that's what they pay me for...


I am very pleased at how I engineered this beautiful red vinyl covered, grid-lined journal (that I already owned) so it will work for my 2017 Bullet Journal.  I dug out a gray headband left over from my last, ill-advised long hair growing escapade, snipped a section out of it, and zigzagged it onto the back cover.  Then I poked around in Office Depot and found a plastic envelope that I sliced and diced and then taped inside the back cover.  It had a flap and snap but that was too bulky and the pocket was too flat for things to go into it easily, so I cut off the flap and then cut a curve below the snap so that the sticky notes and plastic ruler fit in there just right.  I decided that my lovely Waterman pen works well for a place keeper so I've given up trying to figure out how to put on a ribbon marker.

Do you know that if you go to Walmart before 8 o'clock in the morning that only regular people are there?  The Wal-Martians evidently like to sleep late.  I would never go in late at night to see what kind of mutants are in the store in the middle of the night.  (If you're a middle of the night Walmart shopper, I apologize, but some of those people are scary even in daylight.)  My assistant and I went in early yesterday and zoomed through our business, even returning an item, in jig time.  Probably the best Walmart experience I've had.

January 4--Peiter Brueghel the Elder, Hunters in the Snow.  White and cold.  Cold and white.  Chelle's thoughts plodded along like her labored steps.  The snow had started when she was halfway up the trail to Shooter's Notch so she turned around to hike back to her car.  She was alone and she hadn't seen anyone else all day. That wasn't a problem when it was clear and sunny but now that it was snowing this solo hike seemed like a bad idea.  The storm got worse, the wind blew the snow sideways.  Her face felt like it was being sandblasted and she kept stumbling off the trail into the brush.  She heard a voice in the distance and called out.  The call came again but she couldn't make out the words.  Around a boulder the size of a cottage the trail wound through a stand of pines.  Chelle staggered when she leaned into a wind that no longer pressed on her.

Sorry I'm so late again.  I won't be online again until Sunday because I'm running away from home with some writer friends for the weekend.  Yes, it'll be bone-chilling cold but I've packed my thickest clothes and volunteered to keep the fireplace roaring.  Nobody says we need to go outside much anyway.  Enjoy your weekend.  I'll tell you about mine when I get back.
--Barbara