Memoirous

Not necessarily snowbound, more like surrounded. Outside it is still falling and there is about a foot on the ground. I’ve cleared the decks numerous times—and yet within minutes they are coated again. I awake to fondant smooth mounds banked against my Tiny House door. My heater has held up. In fact, I keep it at about 62 and still my feet are warm in wool socks and my L.L. Bean slippers. I could be a cozy advertisement for a cute Vermont cabin—snowbound. Not bounded by the snow—in fact, freed by it. Freed from work, routine, the necessities of life. It is too cold and breezy to do much outside, except shovel. I stay warm moving and lifting the snow, dashing back and forth between the Tiny House and the main house in my slippers, tracking in delicate patterns of snow pasted to the slipper tread. My daughter is tired of me tracking in snow. So am I. My door mat inside the French doors to my place is awash with boots, shoes, and the aforementioned slippers. Awash with unbounded, unbr...

Sitting here in my chair on the precipice of a blizzard or cycle bomb, I’m actually at this moment very cozy. We’re a few days away from Christmas and yesterday I went to the grocery. Surprisingly, the aisles were clear. Earlier my son-in-law had said Meijer’s was crazy, but I shop at Aldis and, though the clerk said they’d been busy, the whole thing was very straight forward and I was in and out. In reality it seems like the forecast of a blizzard is taking the place of the actual weather. I can assure you that all the pre-blizzard food shopping will be eaten up before the thing gets here. Nevertheless, I sit in my Tiny House and await the predicted 45 mph winds and blasts of snow. My only real question is: Will there be time off work or will I have to struggle to get there? --Stay tuned!