What to do with sixteen inches of snow

The second thing I did this morning was reschedule my 10 a.m. endo appointment.  While doing so, I realized 10 a.m. is no longer the catbird time for a first thing in the morning doctor appointment.

Six months down the road could be winter! Maybe I want to take a shower and read the news. Or look out the window at a car buried, all but a side view mirror. See that black speck! So I rescheduled for 11 a.m. Some time in March. No more tensies.

According to the National Weather Service, we had sixteen inches. Laura shoveled all of them! Here are some more pictures:

Lost bench! The green glass globe has a snug cap. The neighbor whose turquoise car was buried yesterday has retreated across the street, waiting for his parking space to be plowed.

Mid afternoon we made a run to the drug store to pick up prescriptions.

On returning, the snow has not melted, but the cap slipped off the globe.

It is so black and white and grey! Fortunately, tomorrow is cards. Nancy and I are playing catchup; we're twenty points down for the year. 

Even more urgently, my next warp cannot turn another revolution until UPS brings my five pound cones from Kansas. Between that and breakfast Wednesday with Lynn, I can make it.

Did I mention, it's cold? Eleven degrees, on the way to minus three. But on Wednesday, it will be fifty and rain. So much for Trump's climate change.

A quiet day today

Years ago, in 1950, my grandma came down for Thanksgiving, wearing a spring coat. It began snowing in the afternoon, then overnight, and all day Friday, and all weekend, too, according to legend. 

It was more than a week before Grandma went home. She and mom caught up on mending, including all the socks that had to be darned. How my brothers loved wearing "those darned socks" that Grandma passed to them, with that bad word attached.

Today was that kind of quiet, surreal. Laura spent hours outside, on three major snow moving jobs, all in our drive, and one more to help Cathy next door. I saw Ron across the street pushing an electric shovel, and that's the first time in three years I've seen it out.

Next to Ron, a young couple who came a year ago last fall. They are round and rolly, like Tonka Willow figures. He came out and shoveled for an hour this morning. He moved a lot of snow. He came out later and shoveled fiercely, but then decided to make a dash for it.

He called his wife out, put her behind the wheel. I watched him give her steering directions by circling his fingers. Then he began pushing, to no avail. He hadn't cleared behind and the drift was to the bumper. He got the shovel, she plied the snow brush. They reduced the barrier by half.

Back as they were, she steering, he pushing mightily. Before he heaved, he looked both ways, as if there were anything on the road. At last she was out and pointed the right direction. He kissed her goodbye, and as her pink plush jammies went back up the steps, I gave him an arm pump and a thumbs up. He grinned and went to work (I assume).

I hemmed sixteen towels from the last warp and wound several bouts of the new warp. I'm dead in the water, though, until my last order of warp arrives from Kansas. Diane told me on Saturday, when I ordered it, they'd had six inches.

When the snow began. The last picture I took, several shots above, the snow was an inch from the bench.

Heavy snow possible Saturday and Sunday; as much as 30 inches to a foot of snow predicted

The title of the post is the headline in today’s Beacon Journal. The Akron Beacon Journal, my childhood newspaper. The repository of funnies and Ann Landers. Even back then my dad would occasionally task me with circling all the grammatical and spelling errors in the day’s edition.

It’s a very slim edition these days and most stories are from the wire.  They do cover the local news, which oscillates between crime and road construction, with a high probability of high school sports every weekend, and our major sports teams, the Cavaliers, the Browns, the Indians. It’s often called the Reekin’ Journal, which is not fair. Transposed information is not new for them.

Good news for those of us pretty far west in the eastern time zone, it’s daylight for about half an hour past five in the evening. On the first day of winter, December 20, more or less, it is dark at 4:59! But the big snow storm Saturday probably obscures our eclipse event.

Here’s another thing that annoys me. Newspapers and magazines that cannot keep track of subscriptions. I was following a thread in the Reekin’ Journal recently, and the article would fade to grey and tell me my subscription was run out. “Well fine!”, and I'd move on to the next paper in my in-box. Eventually I was fed up, subscribed, and went to Wisconsin for Christmas.

I tried opening the Journal when I came back. My password had expired; check my inbox for a new password. Days went by. Then one day, the Journal opened. Go figure.

But how about a big, important publication, The New Yorker. I got the brand new tote last November or December, just to show I’d responded to the renewal notice. I read a current article, What it Felt Like when “Cat Person” went Viral. A flyer at the bottom of the screen informed me I had three articles left this month. Not to worry, when their knickers are in a total twist I’ll just sign in and release the hold.

The article was about the author’s original piece, Cat Person, going viral. I’d not read that, and there was a link to it, back at the beginning of the piece. I scrolled up and clicked on the link.  And, I glanced at the flag at the end. Now I have two articles left this month.