Another frigid, icy day here in Longmont. We have a lot of sunny days, then a couple of snowy days, so I don't actually have much to complain about. Shoveling is minimal. Roads are drivable for the careful drivers but, as evidenced yesterday by the 104-car pileup in Denver, speed kills.
We are having a mattress delivered on Monday, marking the official return to our freshly painted bedroom upstairs. I liked sleeping downstairs where the train could barely be heard, but we'll have a lot of space and sunshine upstairs.
I have to walk to a neighborhood coffee this morning despite the -3 degrees windchill. I like being one of the young people in the group but I still have a residual cough that just won't give up, so I'm a little wary of exposing the other oldsters.
An editing project has to be written up today because I'm meeting with the author tomorrow. Our two-weeks of illness at home has put me behind schedule with a lot of things, but the book was a lot of fun to read, and I love memoir, so I finished reading it without any trouble.
My father raised his children to believe that chickens could be grinned to death. I have a photo of my father, brother, and myself (about 3 years old) trying to murder an innocent hen while grimacing in her face. I don't know why this anecdote popped into my head just now but the fingers typed it. So it goes.
We are having a mattress delivered on Monday, marking the official return to our freshly painted bedroom upstairs. I liked sleeping downstairs where the train could barely be heard, but we'll have a lot of space and sunshine upstairs.
I have to walk to a neighborhood coffee this morning despite the -3 degrees windchill. I like being one of the young people in the group but I still have a residual cough that just won't give up, so I'm a little wary of exposing the other oldsters.
An editing project has to be written up today because I'm meeting with the author tomorrow. Our two-weeks of illness at home has put me behind schedule with a lot of things, but the book was a lot of fun to read, and I love memoir, so I finished reading it without any trouble.
My father raised his children to believe that chickens could be grinned to death. I have a photo of my father, brother, and myself (about 3 years old) trying to murder an innocent hen while grimacing in her face. I don't know why this anecdote popped into my head just now but the fingers typed it. So it goes.
The weather telling us change is on its way.
Presto Change-O!
