I’m supposed to drive two hours each way to pick up my husband Christmas eve. Of course the local weather predicted devastating snow storms that would paralyze all the major airports east of the Mississippi. Yes, I was a spelling champion in grade school.
They do this for ratings, because they don’t have anything else to report but murder, arson, protesters stopping traffic and really bad weather.
I got my own report today. The geese told me something’s brewing. Great gaggles gathered (alliteration) near shore. They did not speak. They’re all feeding to hunker down for a killer storm. Also strange little black birds, like the crazy ones in Texas that sit on the power lines, not Grackles, have been by. We already have alternate plans, train or hotel and he’ll be home for Christmas dinner.
When the squirrels are up in their tree apartments (I saw one that had a plastic grocery bag atop, a nuisance to humans but the only waterproof squirrel apartment I’ve ever seen) we need to see to roads and sidewalks, heat and enough food and water to get us through.
We’re hurricane-proof, see my blogs through Ike, a storm like I’ve never seen that my husband and dog slept through and I blogged through. Every other loft was damaged. Not ours. Our hurricane gear is a block away and I’ve enough coats, hats, gloves and winter boots to get me there on foot to retrieve The Hurricane Box. Yes, we even have a hand-powered radio.
I may have a purpose in this life and may have lived it and may be living it still. I’ve saved people and animals, someone must have a use for me to be here. The bird (capon) has landed and is in the freezer until 12/23, my husband’s birthday. Saving a capon is not my life’s goal, as we and our guests are going to eat it. It’s Christmas here with a tree and everything magical. Dee