Buffalo Gal

After a week of amorphous publicity shots on the Weather Channel, Frances has blown into town.
She saved her best stuff for Floridians, thus we have only swaying limbs, skies sputtering sideways and dark clouds.
We're at high tide as I write, so I'd sure the Atlantic side of the island, a mile from our house, is angry. Our neighborhood is merely annoyed. We sit smack in the middle of the island at a local high of 12 feet above sea level.
The power has fluttered off twice already. Our daughters are safely elsewhere. Flashlights and candles are in place for a marathon Scrabble tournament for two. The wine cellar is well-stocked and I have found a bit of the grape helps both my creativity in word choice and my husband's flexibility is accepting same.
Just another two hours of power and I'll be content to hibernate. There's a roast in the crock pot, without a little more attention it will be only wet, uncooked meat. The Cardinals are only in the second inning, Charlie would like to hear the rest of the game on the downstairs computer.
But two hours may be a stretch. The screens have started to pulse with each fresh gust and the ancient oak branch outside my second story window just did a backbend across my neighbor's yard. I doubt it has the elasticity to do that twice.
Perhaps I am too optismistic about avoiding serious property damage. It's time to abandon my aerie and get out the Scrabble board.
I think I play my best with a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. This will be the perfect night to test my theory.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-09-05 2:48 PM Candlelight Scrabble After a week of amorphous publicity shots on the Weather Channel, Frances has blown into town. She saved her best stuff for Floridians, thus we have only swaying limbs, skies sputtering sideways and dark clouds. We're at high tide as I write, so I'd sure the Atlantic side of the island, a mile from our house, is angry. Our neighborhood is merely annoyed. We sit smack in the middle of the island at a local high of 12 feet above sea level. The power has fluttered off twice already. Our daughters are safely elsewhere. Flashlights and candles are in place for a marathon Scrabble tournament for two. The wine cellar is well-stocked and I have found a bit of the grape helps both my creativity in word choice and my husband's flexibility is accepting same. Just another two hours of power and I'll be content to hibernate. There's a roast in the crock pot, without a little more attention it will be only wet, uncooked meat. The Cardinals are only in the second inning, Charlie would like to hear the rest of the game on the downstairs computer. But two hours may be a stretch. The screens have started to pulse with each fresh gust and the ancient oak branch outside my second story window just did a backbend across my neighbor's yard. I doubt it has the elasticity to do that twice. Perhaps I am too optismistic about avoiding serious property damage. It's time to abandon my aerie and get out the Scrabble board. I think I play my best with a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. This will be the perfect night to test my theory. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top