New England and New York seem to be left out of the party this week. Not that it's a party everyone wants to attend: snowstorm.
Friends on the rest of the Eastern Seaboard and in the midwest are literally digging out. In Baltimore, for heaven's sake! And my sister in Texas tells me that snow is predicted down there. Again!
At the moment a few lazy flakes are floating down to die a lingering death on the brown grass and pavement. There's a tidy rim of snow around the perimeter of our yard (such as it is, asphalt and all).
In Rhode Island, a storm prediction usually means a run on milk and bread. DH and I both find this rather funny. Unless, of course, you live on milk toast. Then I'd be concerned, too.
However, I admit to making a grocery list a few minutes ago:
..and so forth. Ending in bread. I admit it.
More firewood, too. We use our fireplace for coziness and atmosphere, not a great deal for warmth, but I love having it. So do the boys, needless to say. They even "ask" for a fire by plopping down decisively in front of it, bundling front paws under and glancing back and forth from the nearest human to the dark, empty, cold bricks in front of the pathetic little (cold) feline face. Sometimes it works.
So...I'm getting ready for the possiblity of snow. Seems like the city fathers believe it's heading our way this time; there's a parking ban right now.
Which means I'll feel no guilt at hauling out the knitting and curling up with two feline lapwarmers this evening. I like snow.