Throw another log on the fire.
Friday’s coming to stay.
My grandfather had a saying on snow that, as an adult, I have come to agree with quite strongly.
“I only need three snows each year. The first one, the last one, and one on Christmas. If all three come on the same day, even better.”
A month or so ago, I found myself wishing out loud for snow, which we usually don’t get too much of here in Louisville—at least not the amounts I was accustomed to growing up in Cleveland. I wanted the kids to have a chance to sled and build a snowman, all that.
Well, good work, dummy: you got what you wished for.
We’ve had three winter storms in a row, my kids’ preschool has been closed for a week and a half, there’s not a bag of salt to be found in the entire metro area, and I am deeply, deeply tired of being inside. Obviously this pales in comparison to the very real tragedy of what our friends and neighbors in Texas and elsewhere in the South are dealing with right now, but even in these far more fortunate circumstances, February has clearly overstayed …