I woke up to a flurry of white. My heart sank. It was coming down hard and we got another couple of inches. For the folks trying to make it back to work after the long weekend, it was a horrid commute. Thankfully, I get to work from home and traipse around in my jammies and fluffy slippers.
We usually only get one little snow blast in a year, about every couple of years. And ordinarily I would be jumping for joy, hurtling myself into my snow boots to head out and catch snowflakes on my tongue and crunch around the neighborhood in the silence of it all - the normal routine interrupted for one short day, a respite in the hustle bustle of every day. But we've been snowed under forever (ok, a week). This IS the routine. Another cup of coffee, parked in front of the tv watching the cancelled things scroll across the screen. I need to get out today. Mail stuff. Run errands. This is so odd. I swear I would be having better weather if I lived in Minnesota instead of Seattle.
I'm restless and frustrated and comforting myself with creamy noodles dishes. But I'm still packing up the orders. Writing out bills. Shooting for a little bit of melting by late afternoon in which I will actually leave the house and do real things in the real world.
Is this just a freak anomoly? Are we going to be the new Alaska? Is California going to be the new Portland? I need to know. I need more blankies. And woolie socks.