Our daughters' Christmas boxes left yesterday for warmer climes and all the in-town family gifts are heaped on the dining room table awaiting the order of wrapping paper, ribbons and a temporary home under the tree.
Most of our cards are out. I made the last few this morning and will address them later today. Charlie's gift is under lock and key at the office - a key to which I don't have access. My colleague Karen is complicit in the scheme to force me to wait until Christmas Eve to share it.
The television weatherpeople have been warning in ominous tones of the approaching Noreaster for days, but we woke up this morning to a gentle white carpet.
Yesterday the elbows were sharp and the lines long at at the grocery store; but today all is calm, all is bright. There are only one set of soft-edged tire tracks on our city street, we've all been granted permission to stay home.
These's a pot roast in the slow-cooker, it's aroma is blending with the onions and seasonings. Charlie is taking his time with the Sunday crossword. Everything is on simmer.
There is plenty I could and should be doing for my job, but it's Sunday and it's a snow day. I'm still the kid wishing for the storm to kick up enough to keep us all home tomorrow too.
I promised Jessica I'd come up with a few possible designs for her wedding invitations - the perfect task for a day without tasks.
In two decades of living in the south, the word "snow" was invariably in the response when I told anyone I was from Buffalo.
The purse of their lips clearly showed they believed snow to be a very bad thing.
Hurricanes are bad things. Tornadoes are worse.
Snow rarely blows in your door unless you open it.
And sometimes there's nothing better than a closed door.



Copyright 2007 Judi Griggs