#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 40 - Creepy

I think my animals are messing with me.
My husband has been out of the country these past two weeks leaving me here to hold down the fort.
And history has shown that bad things always happen when he's gone.

I thought this trip's "bad thing" was going to be sick dogs, but while they had to miss a few days of daycare, they avoided catching what was going around.
Whew.
Bullet dodged.

Yeah, it's never that easy.
It started one evening last week when Floyd's attention was riveted to the baseboard under the TV cupboard. He not only stared, but paced back and forth as if moving along with something. Then Henry joined him, staring and pacing.

We had some mice in the house last fall and were able to eliminate them without too much trouble.
Or so I thought.
My daughter heard rustlings and gnawing sounds in the closet ceiling off the upstairs bathroom a couple of months ago, but no more mice showed up and I figured it was a fluke; either that or another bat infestation.
Either way, there wasn't anything we could really do about it unless the suspects appeared, which they hadn't.

Now my baseboard-staring cats were creeping me out.
Henry moved to the next room, his icy gaze focused on a different wall.
Then Bertie, our ferocious hunting basset hound, with baby birds, bunnies, and almost a squirrel to her credit, leaped to attention. Her nose instantly to the floor, she made her way over to the same area, staring and whining.

We couldn't hear anything in the walls nor did we find any outward signs of mice.
All we could do was, like the cats, wait and watch.
My creeped-out factor rising, I knew better than to ignore this hunting behavior.

You see, Henry and Floyd have a hunting conquest of their own.
Late one summer night last year, also when my husband was traveling by the way, I heard what sounded like a really big bug buzzing in my room. But it was dark and I didn't want to wake up the dogs so I pulled the covers over my head and fell back to sleep.
In the wee hours of the morning the next day my daughter woke me up. "Mom, there's a bat in my room."
Henry and Floyd had cornered what was likely a little brown bat - which, believe me, doesn't seem so little when it's trapped behind your bedroom door. I value bats and think they are fascinating creatures, but I would just as soon avoid any up-close-and-personal encounters.
I was ready to tell my daughter to open her window screen, grab the cats, shut her bedroom door, and climb in bed with me, when my son, who happened to still be awake and was in a good mood, offered to catch and release. Turns out, my daughter had heard a weird buzzing, too. That little bat had apparently spent more than a day in the house, likely roosting in her curtains.

So you see, my paranoia is not totally unfounded.
Then last night, Fern, our mighty indoor huntress, with chipmunks and large spiders, and unfortunately a gerbil or two to her credit, jumped down off the bed and started chattering. You know, the kind of chattering a cat will do when stalking a bird, or a mouse, or pretty much any prey. She was poised in crouch position staring under my bed.
Gulp.

I have learned not to ignore Fern's hunting signs.
Years ago I lay in bed in the early morning listening to Fern race back and forth under the bed. I didn't think much of it, though she sure kept running back and forth, back and forth, for a really long time. I assumed she was probably just playing with a toy or something on the floor.
Did I say it was early in the morning?

Then I got up.
Lying in a bedraggled heap by the door was tiny little Jasmine, my youngest daughter's gerbil. Fern had apparently run the poor thing to death underneath my bed while I lay above listening to the slaughter.

So it didn't take me long to put two and two together this time - she had something trapped under my bed! I frantically called my daughter, who indulgently shone a flashlight under the bed to reveal... nothing.
Nothing we could see, that is.

So today I'm trying really hard not to read too much into my animals' suspicious behavior. The dogs are at daycare and I'm home alone. Just me and the cats.
At least, I hope so.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Days 36, 37, 38, 39

Day 36 

Fern and I are just going to snuggle under the blankets and weather the storm .

 Day 37 

Unlike Templeton Rye, Henry really was made in Iowa.

Day 38

I have this crazy cactus that blooms multiple times a year - as in 4 or even 5 different times. I must give it just the right about of neglect!

Day 39

Knitting under a sweater blanket (made by my daughter Sarah) and my big, goofy lap dog.

#100HAPPY DAYS - Day 35 - Danseur

Gus is very proud of his French heritage.
After all, "basset" is derived from the French "bas," meaning low to the ground.
Among his many talents, Gus is most proud of his status as a danseur.
His long, lean body exemplifies the male ballet dancer's physique with its need for strength and agility.
Here Gus demonstrates perfect form in first position.

You're welcome.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 30 - Winter Weary

Gus doesn't know about anybody else but he's tired of winter.
If it were up to him these frigid winter days would be spent lounging by a warm fire, only occasionally turning over to toast the other side.
Gus would be all in favor of spending the winter in hibernation, as long as there was a nice warm bed and a goodly supply of milk bones.
But alas, the life of a house dog comes with its obligations.
Despite his assurances to the contrary, he cannot wait until Spring to piddle.
Since he was a tiny puppy Gus has hated cold weather; and he strives to make it clear how much he resents our insistence on taking him into a deep freeze to piddle.
To this end, Gus has perfected the art of false piddling.
He will unwillingly trudge outside only to go through the piddle protocol;  a slight bending of the back legs along with the lifting of one heel. Then he'll dash to the door and certain warmth.
Only it was just a ruse.
This means he can't just be let outside to go potty like a normal dog.
No, Gus must be closely monitored to ensure he actually goes.
Of course his tendency to false piddle makes pottying take twice as long, forcing not only Gus but his people to suffer in below zero wind chills.
I guess this reasoning is a little too nuanced for the basset brain.
Or maybe he knows exactly what he's doing.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 29 - Cozy

Cozy throw knitted from hand spun wool

With temperatures right around 0 degrees and wind chills as low as -20, today was the perfect day to cozy up under a wool throw.
I knitted this throw last year from wool yarn spun by Maggie Howe of Girl With a Sword Productions. Over the years I think I have bought enough of her hand spun to reconstruct an entire flock of sheep - maybe two.
Apparently I'm working on building my own herd of afghans instead.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 28 Bookish

My cousin is paring down her possessions and sent me this wonderful old book, full of sage advice on health and home, with topics such as keeping one's figure, home remedies for worms(!) and contagious diseases, social etiquette, and how to clean lace.
I can't help but ponder the many hands that have turned these pages and the thoughts and actions this book may have inspired.
It must have been precious to many people to have survived more than 100 years.
Without intention, I found my niche as a "homemaker," though when my youngest heads off to college in the fall I think I'm going to call myself a retired educational facilitator instead.
I shouldn't be embarrassed or discomfited by my love for things domestic, yet society still tends to devalue the import of homemaking.
It sounds kind of silly to admit how much satisfaction I find in making my own bread, putting together a delicious meal, or surveying the jars of homemade pasta sauces on my shelves.
Today I'll peruse this old, timeworn book and feel a kinship with other women from long ago; and be thankful that I don't need to know how to treat diphtheria or destroy lice on cattle.
Though I may take a look at how to remove wrinkles...

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 27 - Soothing

I ordered a knitting kit a few weeks ago - project number 5,203 - and when I opened it today this nifty little can of bag balm was included as a "soothing" gift.
And it arrived just in time.

I'm not a glamorous (snort) woman. I rarely wear makeup, don't "do" my nails, and am most comfortable in jeans and a baggy sweater. When my kids were little I would often notice other women's perfectly coiffed hair and neatly manicured nails and think, "Someday I'll have the time to do that, too."
I guess I now have that time, but just am not interested.
I do "style" my short hair and decided a couple years ago to cover the gray, but makeup and manicures apparently just aren't my thing.
It's not that I don't spend time on myself - I exercise regularly, eat well much of the time, and practice mindfulness (almost) daily.
I just don't want to mess with eye liner and mascara, and nail polish never would stick to my nails.

It seems I'm always cooking or outside with the dogs or just coming in from running errands - and therefore washing my hands a lot. I'm kind of a sticker about hand washing and it tends to be the first thing I do when I walk in the door.
As the saying goes, too much of a good thing... leads to dry, chapped skin... or something like that.

A friend once told me the first thing he noticed when meeting his future wife was her soft hands. I was thinking about this while slathering on the bag balm today, which meant I was thinking about it for a really long time; apparently lanolin takes forever to fully absorb.
If my husband weren't in Chile I'd ask him what he first noticed about me.
I'd bet you my bag balm it wasn't soft hands.

#HAPPYDAYS - DAY 26 - For my valentine

Gleaning apples in Washington

My husband left for a two-week business trip yesterday.
He'll be in the summer cornfields of Chile, while I remain in the frozen wastes of Iowa.
And yes, he left on Valentine's Day.

But you know what?
I'm not bothered at all.
He's missed my birthday most years, along with our anniversary, and Valentine's Day.
Name a traditional "lovers'" holiday and he's likely missed it.

I've not always been so sanguine about his travel.
Mostly this was due to the difficulty of managing the heavy load of child-rearing alone, though I did carry a nice little backpack full of personal resentment for a number of years.

It was maybe 10 years ago or so that I realized those "special" days are not important, not really. It's the day-to-day living of a life together, the give and take, the appreciation and love, that is shown through daily actions that really matters.
Sometimes during a lull in my day I'll suddenly feel overwhelmed by how much I am cherished by this incredible man. He's seen me through depression and anxiety, never faltered as a father to children with severe mental illnesses, and is always willing to do the dishes.

He's put up with a menagerie of pets through the years; not because he wanted rats, cats, mice, guinea pigs, or dogs, in the house, but because he knew how vital pets are to myself and our children. He helps me can and freeze more food than we could possibly eat in a season just because he knows I'll worry if we don't, and despite the fact that I'll worry about how we will ever eat it all when we do.
He'll vacuum and clean, make the coffee every morning, glean fruit from public trees, brush snarling cats, and pay exorbitantly for doggie daycare; all because of and for me.
Well, he'd probably make the coffee anyway, but you know what I mean.

Now, I'm not knocking flowers or chocolates or even celebrating special events. It's always nice to show someone he or she is loved with a gift.
But I believe true love is found in the small things; the sharing of a laugh, the holding of a hand, the give and take of a life spent together.
It's in these daily gestures of caring that true love resides.

Hurry home, honey.
I miss you.

#100HAPPYDAYS - DAYS 23, 24, and 25

At the Barry Manilow Concert

Happy for flights of beer and flights of fancy with my love

Having a daughter who makes and decorates sugar cookies for every holiday makes me happy!

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 22 - Barry Manilow

Barry Manilow was my first true love.
I did have a brief flirtation with Frankie Valli, thanks to my sister's Four Seasons albums. Frankie even has the distinction of having been my first concert.
But I was too young at 11 to fully appreciate the meaning of "true love."
By 13, however, Mandy hit the air waves and I was smitten.
I spent my teen years in thrall to Barry's ballads, playing records over and over until I knew all the words to every song.
With a bent toward the melancholy even then, Barry spoke to the desperate sadness in my heart.
And he was cute, regardless of what my dad said about his nose. I could even pretend that, just maybe, he was tall enough.
Sigh.
True confession: I pretended to be sick to skip a high school band concert so I could stay home and watch one of his TV specials. 
Sorry, Mom.
My freshman year of college I camped out over Labor Day weekend to buy tickets to see him live for the first time. For me to go camping willingly, with people I hardly even knew, in the rain, no less, shows how deeply I loved him.
Time went on and I must admit the flames abated. Oh, I still loved Barry, but I didn't love Barry any more.
But Barry still held a special place in my heart. I took a very dubious boyfriend (now husband) to a Barry Manilow concert and even he, who tended to favor Bob Dillan and Bonnie Raitt, was favorably impressed.
Years passed for both of us, Barry and I; he continued to make music while I focused, apparently, on making children.
The last time I saw Barry in person was at the Iowa State Fair in 1993. It was a great show, as always, though I realized my feelings for Barry would never again be quite the same.
Now, Barry is 70 and I am 51.
Where did all those years go?
This may be his last concert and I have to be there.
I'll always love Barry's music, but now I tend to see him, and us, through the lens of nostalgia.
Barry, you were my first love.
Thank you for all the music that spoke to my heart.
I can't wait to see you One Last Time.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 21 Pasta

I've been focusing on making my life easier.
I don't have to make absolutely everything we eat from scratch, but I enjoy doing so as much as possible.
I am one of those people who lives to eat; deprivation and elimination are not in my cooking lexicon.

Lately I've been cooking to suit my husband and myself,  with less worry over what or whether the kids who are still at home will eat. Let's face it, the youngest is 17, and if she doesn't want what's for dinner, she's fully capable of making herself a sandwich.

I enjoy making my own pasta, but find the work involved aggravates the painful joints in my hands.
The solution was this nifty pasta machine.

We made our first batch of fettuccine a couple nights ago and it was out-of-this-world fantastic! I'm not a gadget person, but am so happy to be able to make pasta without pain.

Michael made this incredible
mushroom, tarragon and goat cheese sauce for our homemade fettuccine; paired with freshly baked bread and roasted garlic, and a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio, we ate like kings!
 
I can't wait to try some of the more adventurous flavors and different shapes. I'm just waiting for my 25 pound bag of semolina flour to arrive!
I can't wait to try some of the more adventurous flavors and different shapes. I'm just waiting for my 25 pound bag of semolina flour to arrive!

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 20 - Tulips

When I first started seeing a therapist for depression many years ago, he naively suggested I do a few things to brighten my day, one of which was to buy myself a flower.
Yeah.
No.
At the time I was knee-deep in small children with mental illnesses of their own, a traveling husband, a new puppy, and a limited budget; buying myself a flower was pretty low on the list of "things that would brighten my day."
I remember asking him if this suggestion, along with several others he had made, including "taking a nice long bath," was something he learned to say to depressed women patients in "therapy school."
I may have been a somewhat challenging patient.
In one session, several years into our therapist/patient relationship, he mentioned that on his way home the week before he just didn't feel like himself. He was, in fact, a little down. Then he remembered that he had seen me that day and it all made sense!
I'd say we had a great therapist/patient relationship.
Thankfully, depression is now just a part of my past.
I have even discovered that sometimes buying myself flowers can be a cheering experience; though last week when struggling to arrange these gorgeous yellow tulips I may have muttered something under my breath about the @$#*%! flowers.
But right now, today, these flowers do indeed make me smile.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 19 - Basset antics

Bertha Mae

Bertha Mae, our little basset hound, is a fearless climber.
She will leap onto a chair, then decide she'd rather be on the couch.
A quick perch on the armrest and she's flying to her new destination.
Often we'll look out the window to see her perched high atop the woodpile or standing on a patio table.

Last summer we had raised beds of tomatoes in our backyard.
Bertie discovered she could easily climb amongst the produce and have a nice snack.
So we added chicken wire about 3 feet high around the tops of the beds.
That should keep the little dog out.
Nope.

The cats are right; this is a great view!

We're not quite sure how she got inside the fencing, but apparently ripe tomatoes were enough of an incentive to fly into the beds.

So far she hasn't fallen or managed to injure herself.
And we grown accustomed to keeping a close eye on her until she decides whose lap she wants; from experience I can tell you that a 35-pound projectile can pack quite a wallop.

So if you're ever visiting and someone yells, "Incoming," out of the blue, be prepared to catch 35 pounds of goofy hound.

Bertie, on back of couch; Gus on couch

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 18 Bread

Spent grain bread

My husband is a home brewer who makes fabulous beer.
Though I'm not especially fond of IPAs in general, I love most of the other beers he makes.
But having a steady supply of home brew isn't the only benefit from his hobby; he also makes the most incredible whole wheat bread using his spent grains.

Spent grains are what is left and after the mash has extracted most of the sugars, proteins, and nutrients, from the grains. Breweries often sell their spent grains as animal feed, though their nutrient content is severely reduced.
Though no longer high in nutritive value, spent grains give whole wheat bread a delicious nutty flavor and a nice chewy texture.

Every time he brews, my husband uses the spent grains to make 3-4 loaves of this great tasting bread we refer to as "beer bread." He never uses a recipe, so it's a little different each time, but always delicious.
I'm looking forward to breakfast tomorrow morning when we'll turn a loaf or two of his latest beer bread into French toast.
Yum.

#100HAPPYDAYS- Day 17 - Drip, drip, drip

Drip, drip, drip

Oddly, we haven't had enough winter weather for me to be tired of it yet. 

Usually by February we've had so much bone-chilling cold, snowy-slippery driving, and gloomy-gray skies that a sunshiny day is a rare surprise.

But this year we've only had spurts of real cold, a few scattered snowstorms, and more sunny days than typical.

I'll take the sunshine and blue skies any time.

But in February?

It's a real gift.

Rest in Peace, Elmer

Elmer

How do you say goodbye to someone who has been part of your everyday life for nearly 14 years?
Elmer, our gorgeous, lovable, orange tabby has cancer.
We noticed his weight loss and as it accelerated his blood work showed likely leukemia.
There is no cure and treatment would only prolong his death.
Today we will have to say goodbye.
Thankfully our veterinarians share our philosophy on quality of life and will come to our house this evening to euthanize him.

Elmer joined our family as a tiny, adorable kitten from a rescue organization. As soon as I saw him I knew he was the one. I had never seen a kitten as intensely orange as this tiny tabby.
We adopted him along with a little black and white female we named Fern. They were about 7 weeks old.

Throughout the years, Elmer was always nearby, giving his calm approval or resigned acquiescence to everything from more kittens, to rabbits, and even a St. Bernard. He patiently withstood the kitten antics of Lester, a tiny dark tabby with a nubbin of a tail, who liked to leap on Elmer's back and bite his neck. Most of the time Elmer would just let Lester think he had won, then shrug his shoulders to dislodge the little bugger. I recall one time when Lester's leap was ill-timed. Elmer was about to jump through the cat door just as Lester landed on top of him. Both cats ended up stuck half-in and half-out, like Pooh Bear in Rabbit's doorway.

Elmer and Lester

In his later years, Elmer, who always slept next to me on a pillow expressly placed for his comfort, would drape himself across my head in the middle of the night. I would feel his cold little toe pads against my cheek as he purred himself to sleep, chin again my ear. Often there would be the tiniest puddle of drool left behind.
Elmer would often come downstairs in the early afternoon to let me know it was nap time. He would station himself on a couch armrest, and give me his "judgmental" look. Every time I would get up to go somewhere, he would mraow and try to lead me up the stairs.

Elmer liked his water fresh, and in the past couple of years would pester and pester until one of us would run the slightest trickle of water in the bathtub for him.

Elmer and Fannie

Elmer played a part in the daily lives of my children as well. He didn't like to be held or kissed, but was always ready to snuggle on a lap. He liked to play with toys, but usually only those with long strings. His favorite was the "swirly twirly fishy" - a small stuffed fish on an elastic string attached to a plastic fishing pole. He didn't want the fish, but would go after the string; even without claws he could always grab it. One had to be quick to keep him from biting the string in half.
His love of "twing" was a nuisance. His feline radar would always alert him to crocheting or knitting and he would show up, wait for just the right moment, and grab the yarn. There are few things as uncomfortable as knitting with wet yarn.

Elmer played an active role in our homeschooling adventures as well, becoming a character in whatever historical era we studied. Ancient Egypt? Elmer-ahten. Russian history? Yelmar Myeowstranovich. Norse mythology? Elmer the Red.
We often called him Elmer Pie and my husband dubbed him his "gorgeous orangeness."

Elmer was always dignified, except when catnip was involved. He was what we amusingly called a "mean nipper," as catnip brought out an aggressive side seldom seen otherwise.
As the founder of The Order of the Stripes, Elmer initiated Lester, Floyd, and Henry, though his own stripes remained the stripiest of all.

I worry about Fern when he is gone, as they have been together from the beginning, and Elmer is the only other cat she is comfortable with. He and Fern could usually be found on my bed lying in each others arms, purring. I wish I could explain to her what is happening and why he will no longer be with us.

Elmer and Fern

Cats often seem to choose a specific person to love and Elmer chose my son Zachary. Elmer was there for Zach through some of his worst anxiety and panic attacks, and I can't help but believe he somehow knew Zach needed him the most.
I can't adequately convey how much I will miss this lovely boy. I remind myself that he will be with us always, through photos and memories, and I know from experience that the heartache will slowly ease.
I will always love you my sweet Elmer and have truly been blessed to have you in my life.
Thank you for enriching us all with your sweet nature, calm presence, and gorgeous orangeness.
We will miss you terribly.

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 16 - Dryad Revolt

Evergreens bow down under snowy coats

Dryads awaken

bowed under coats of ice

 demanding redress

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 15 Warmth

New fireplace insert

Seven years ago we decided to add an insert to our then non-functioning fireplace.
I insisted, over my husband's objections, that we get a wood-burning insert. I love the smell of a wood fire, the atmosphere it creates, even the popping and crackling of burning wood.
We liked out wood burning insert, though it never really looked quite right. We have a super small firebox, built for burning coal, and it was difficult to find an insert that would fit.
We did and it was great - we could warm up the downstairs and keep the thermostat set low - usually no higher than 65 degrees during the day.
But.
And this is a big but.
A wood burning insert is a pain.
Being city folk, we had to buy our wood already cut and dried. The cost of a load had gone up to $300 for a cord (that didn't ever quite measure true). So I started checking Craigslist for free wood ads and my husband would take the seats out of the mini van and load her up.
We got some good wood that way, but usually it wasn't the best for burning and it still needed to be cut and stacked to dry.
Hauling wood in daily was a hassle, too. It was hard for everyone in the family with EDS to carry a load, which left only my husband and occasionally my oldest son, who could carry in wood without injury.
Then there was the ash scooping and disposal, the inevitable bits of wood and bark and ash that found their way to the floor and carpet, and the noise. The fan rattled no matter what we did and was so loud that it could make conversation and TV watching difficult.
We had to have the chimney cleaned twice yearly at about $200 a pop as well.
I finally cried "uncle" and admitted my mistake.
I've been focusing on simplifying our lives and the wood insert was just too much added work, mostly for my husband, who works long weeks and travels constantly. He needed a break and we needed to switch to gas.
The insert we have now is gorgeous and looks like it was made for this house.
No more messing with matches and fire starters; simply press a button on the remote.
I am so glad we were able to make the switch.
Today, my new fireplace makes me really happy!

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 14 Snow dogs

Bertha Mae and Gus

These two hooligans are a study in contrasts.
While Bertie is an out-hound, forever needing to patrol the perimeter of her territory, checking for invaders, chasing errant squirrels and killing baby bunnies, Gus is an in-hound who, except for sunning himself on the porch steps in the summer, would just as soon stay inside curled up on the couch, preferably under a blanket or on a lap, thank you very much.
But with yesterday's snow they missed their usual 2-mile morning walk and needed to go outside and get the stink blown off.
You know, as an expression "go outside and get the stink blown off" really doesn't seem to be rooted in any sort of practical wisdom. If you stink when you're inside, you're still going to stink outside, though the aroma might disperse somewhat, rendering your smell somewhat less stinky to those in close proximity.
And as far as dogs go, being outside generally tends to increase the stink.
But I digress.
It's always much more fun to go outside if one of your people goes with you, and that's what happened yesterday when they had their little romp in the snow.

Everything started out nice and sedate...

 

But then somebody said something or touched somebody in just the wrong way...

And the Basset 500 Blizzard Edition 2015 was on.

The snow is deep! Especially when your tummy is so close to the ground.

Bertie gets some great ear action going.

Neck and neck...

But a burst of speed puts Bertie out in front...

Oh no!

Wipeout!

Snowplow...

Blinded by the ear!

But the bullet takes a shortcut...

And... hey, Mom, it's snowing again. Can we go inside now?

#100HAPPYDAYS - Day 13 - Reprieve

Snow Day

I've been really busy lately.
Busy for me is not "busy" for a typical person.
I'm still a stay-at-home unschooling mom, though after this spring I'm going to have to give myself a different, more accurate job description.
Maybe cat-herder or basset wrangler... or (gasp) homemaker.

Anyway, my "busy" involved volunteering, driving my daughter to and from her various classes at three different locations (high school, urban campus and ankeny campus of community college), attending a lecture at Iowa State, viewing an art show, plus all the regular cooking, etc.

The amount of activation energy required to do all this sometimes seems unattainable, thanks to my Ehlers Danlos with co-morbid fibromyalgia.
I love that word co-morbid, it adds a note of gravitas to any diagnosis, don't you think?

Anyway, I've been able to keep going, enjoying what I've been doing, and managing enough down-time to regroup for the next day's assault.
So far.
Oh, but I was kind of dreading today.
I had activities scheduled for the morning and again in the evening and knew it would be frustratingly difficult to find the oomph to push myself through.
And then came the snow.
Yes, we got 10-12 glorious inches of city-stopping, activity canceling snow!

What a relief to know that today I could just hibernate under my quilt with books, cats, and knitting, and save up enough energy for tomorrow.