As happens each and every year, the end of daylight savings has kicked me in the ass. To begin with, I am not a morning person. Natural light sends a visual cue so I know it's okay to get out of bed. When the alarm sounds at 6:20 a.m., and it's pitch dark outside, I burrow a little deeper under the down comforter, let John curl his body around mine, and snooze. This morning was extra hard because I had a cozy, blonde bedbug on my side of the bed who was blocking my path. Even if I'd wanted to get up, it would have involved disturbing him.
Then, I ran a few errands this morning before arriving at the office. While I was out and about, I noticed that it was snowing. Mind you, the snow was incredibly fine and evaporated on contact with pavement or cars. And then the snow stopped, amounting to nothing—except to taunt and say, "It's cold enough to snow."
I don't know how I'm going to make it through the winter. Snow is fine. In fact, some of my favorite activities require snow—downhill skiing, sledding, and building snow forts with my boys.
It's the extreme cold and the obscenely low windchill and the impenetrable flat light of a Minnesota winter that forces me to hibernate until April. Should give me plenty of time for blogging, eh?
Reading: The Silverado Squatters, Robert Louis Stevenson's vignettes about 1880s Napa "lifestyle," which is out of print, but available online, unabridged. I've just started Ken Follett's monster, The Pillars of the Earth, his epic novel about the building of a Gothic cathedral in England, which I finally bought in trade paper because the mass market I have owned for years is too awkward to hold and the print is too small for my forty-year-old eyes.
Listening: Right this minute, I'm listening to The Police's reggae-inflected third album, Zenyatta Mondatta.
Watching: Not much with the writers strike in effect. There are a number of series that John and I came to in the second or third season—Bones, for example—so this seems like a good time to watch TV on DVD.
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