Aargh, this weekend holds the promise of more white crap falling from above. When did snow change from magical gift of the sky to dreaded toxic backache maker from the evil laughing gods?
During the wet snow the other day I had to leave the house early, so I did not clear the murky whitish slop from the walk, steps, or front door porch. So now it is frozen completely solid, the consistency of concrete chemically bonded with high fire porcelain. It resists all attempts at chipping or salting away. I'm considering going after it this evening with nail scizzors. On hands and knees. I love winter in New England.
On the other hand, it is now January, which means we have passed the magical date of December 22, the shortest day of the year. It's hard to see it or feel it, but the days are getting longer and help is on its way. Soon we'll be traveling to and leaving work in daylight and we won't feel so much like troglodytes.
