Icy flakes have been floating steadily and piling up for two days. I can stare out a window in every room of my house and watch the heavens sift powdered sugar to the earth. It’s gorgeous and hypnotizing. I don’t get many chores done when it is snowing.
The winds are picking up and swirling white flakes around. This morning, the measurements were made in inches, but this afternoon they switched over to feet. There is no stopping in sight. The low temperature is predicted to be 23 degrees F. The High is 30 degrees F.
The family room is finally warming up. The fire has been stoked up and blazing for hours I will stay in my snow outfit (thick leggings, turtle neck, with tee-shirt, all under my large SF 49ers sweatshirt,) because it just got warm where the fire is, all the other rooms are icy. I fear that someday, my butt will stick to the toilet seat because it freezes.
Hah! But seriously, can that really happen? Like the tongue on the metal pole? If it can, it will happen to me. Just wait. If not that particular thing, something else is bound to.
I don’t believe in luck – good or bad. The strange things that happen are only that – strange. The cake thing was heartbreaking because I wanted it perfect looking for a celebration. From pouring the batter into the pans to trying to cover the mess with frosting, it was one stupid thing after another. Bottom line: I will have to use a different image in the cookbook I’m writing.
The kitchen is not the only place strange things happen. Or anywhere in the house for that matter. I am the common denominator in every strange thing that occurs.
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