Well, I have no idea how many inches of snow we got. "A Whole Lot" is a pretty accurate estimate. This morning the wind is still howling, though the onslaught has tapered to squalls. Cars are buried in drifts, and parking lots are wastelands. A few foot passengers are walking backward down the hill into the wind. A few depressed shovelers are pecking away at plow piles higher than their heads. Last night revelers were sledding and skiing in the streets, but enthusiasm has waned this morning.
Happy Monday. And apparently we will have Happy Wednesday too. Possibly even Happy Thursday. The snow gods have spoken.
This morning I will edit, and then I will make lasagna and garlic bread for our first little doll-house dinner party . . . fortunately, for friends who can walk here. In the interstices I will read and reread some poetry collections, and watch my large son methodically consume all of the fresh fruit in the house, and cope with the crabbiness of a housebound cat, and wash many loads of dishes. The doll-house kitchen is so cramped that even one dirty mixing bowl clogs the progress of a meal. I'll miss the view when we move, but I will not miss this kitchen.