Snow Into March

What's that old adage?  "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb."  Well, our March lion isn't very fierce but he sure is snowy.  The flakes are so small that it looks foggy out there.  I don't think it's very cold--nope, 29 degrees according to the weather guy that lives in my phone--and it isn't windy.  So that's not too leonine, only winter-y.  I can deal.

I finished the second flip-top mitten last night and firmed up my opinion that I think the left one is so ugly because of the yellow hand.  I really wish I'd remembered to start with a few rows of ribbing on the flip-top loose edge because it curls like crazy and I know nothing I do will change that.  I'll wear them later and if they keep my hands warm I'll shrug off the curling issue.

There are more bulbs up, I saw them yesterday, but now they're snow-covered again so I can't show them to you.  Just pretend.

March 1--Atelier of Jacques Louis David, Jean-Paul Marat Dead in his Bathtub.  The lieutenant stood in the narrow doorway looking at the pattern the bloody pink water traced on the tiles.  He never understood what drove people to suicide but his instinct told him that it was the ultimate punishment for those left behind.  "Anything?" he asked.  Dave, the young tech, raised an eyebrow at the question.  "Blood, brains, bone fragments, and a handgun too far from his hand.  Credibility stretched to breaking."  Doc Leo clicked his tongue at his assistant's reply.  "Too early to draw any conclusions, Edward.  Our young friend has read too many pulp novels."  Dave inhaled, ready to defend himself but the lieutenant shook his head and winked.  "Protocol, sonny boy," Lt. Hogan said, "we follow protocol.  Supposition is for later when the facts line up--or don't."

Take my advice, don't let broccoli go bad in the crisper.  Eat it soon after buying it.  This is a public service announcement.  Oh, the snowflakes are bigger now and it looks like it's getting windy.  Goodie.  Remind me again why I live here.
--Barbara