March 23, 2016
I THOUGHT WE HAD DODGED THE BULLET. Ammunition?? My dear and gentle readers shriek? Just what is take place in the big little city!? It is snowing, plan and simple. No alliterations, or as my cousin said, split infinitives. No, nay, just plain, old, vanilla, flurry. Now we cannot complain too hard, as the winter was almost snow- less, almost but it does seem like mother nature is hard at it again to repurpose the spring season. Hanging on for dear life. Shoveling more than then. And it appears we will do it again, today. With a crimson alert for the weekend. This being a short week or depending on your perspective, a very long weekend that will start on the second T day at noon. The city will slumber long and hard on many levels and could possibly re-open on the first T day of the week, next week.
So we had unequivocally taken off the long undergarments, as it near the end of the month and somewhat like spring. AND stupidly unwrapped the foliage in the front. The calendar the arbitrator of such things in England is not really a good enactor of things here. We have even been stopped dead in tracks, Mud season. Back from the brown, we are and squarely white, once more.
It is like living in a snow cone. You know the thing that has those plastic bits and when you shake it goes into an uproar. Now I can’t say there has been too much pandemonium of late here in the bed and breakfast. The big item is that the patriot news agency is going to change, not always a good thing. It is not delivering soon it indicates, the weather, and a weather network is. This has caused me no end of anguish.
It is my genetic makeup is to report here in the daily diatribe, copiously, you my followers of the diatribe, possibly will and may perhaps, think about the inclement, the sunny, the stormy, the foul, the cold and the warmth. This network is more detailed than I can and possibly require. It details weather patterns by the hour. IF you can figure out how to get to the site from where you are. Crimson alerts when you can find them are buried in site debris, barley discernable.
Another website that has changed for the sake of it is the library. There is not one click or bang that I can find to browse the contents of the provincial collection. This is very important as I am not allowed to bring the venerable golden retriever, inside. She being better behaved than some of the children I was informed. Lucy P hates as much as I do being tied up to the statue out front of a venerable literary figure of repute as much as I do. So the website becomes informative. Now I scoop and run and come home to see if I would like to read the tomes carried thru the city homeward bound. Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. Leo Tolstoy, Lucy P and Moi