In the almost-month since I've written, too many ideas have slipped by in their little black ninja robes. I'm not sure if I could catch up if I wanted to -- I can recall having a number of conversations entitled (for production purposes only) "I Should Write About That In My Journal Today!" but I'm pretty sketchy on the details. I think the best I can do is offer some pictures of the last party and start clean.
Today is a funny day. Yesterday was 60 degrees and springsome, and I was feeling pretty great about that. (I like Tuesdays. My programs are on.) But today, a mere 24 hours later, the snow is coming down like god went to a Jersey mall with all of his friends and they're finally brushing out the hairspray. I'm not unhappy about it at all. I think El Niño's a good kid (except for all the dead plankton). Maybe if the snow is sticky, I'll make a Snow Chicken on my front lawn.
This weather always reminds me of being a little kid. I don't know if that's because I'm from the midwest, or if snow makes everyone feel insulated and enfolded. I want to wrap myself in footie pajamas and my great grandma's afghan, and drink cocoa, and watch The Neverending Story with every single light in the house turned on.
I'm having company over for dinner, but I can't imagine anyone would begrudge me my jammies. Right?
