Well, Okay, Maybe Next Week I’ll be Better

Hi All,
Looks like I’m in this sinus-infectiony/bronchitis thingy for the long haul. Truly hope to be back to a modicum of normal by next week. Talk to you all soon, and thanks so much for sticking with me!


Will Write Soon

Hi Dear Readers!

I have been a little bit under the weather lately (for my wonderful non-American readers, that’s an idiom which means that I’ve been sick) and unable to write.

I’m okay, just a little head cold with an incredibly stuffy nose.

I’ve got to catch up with my other work, but I will hopefully write some more next week.

Best regards,

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Decorations to make for Princess Buttercup's class Valentine's Day party.

Decorations to make for Princess Buttercup’s class Valentine’s Day party.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Readers!

Yesterday, when I was cleaning our room, I had to laugh at the clear discrepancy between Lefty’s stuff and mine.

Today’s blog celebrates the differences between men and women that make marriage a wonderful adventure.

Hope you all enjoy the pictures, and here’s wishing a romantic day to you and yours.

His (nightstand)

His. (Nightstand.)



His. (He knows what every one of these go to.)

His. (He knows what every one of these go to.)



His. (What's this stuff?)

His. (What’s this stuff?)



O, Snow, Where did You Go?

Here is a snowball for our which-insulates-better science project.

Here is a snowball for our which-insulates-better science project.

In the movie Gone with the Wind, there is a tense scene when Yankee soldiers come in and ask Melanie Wilkes of Ashley whereabouts. Ashley and some other men have gone to Shantytown to clean out the “riffraff” that frightened Scarlet earlier that day.

When the soldiers leave to wait outside, Melanie’s hands tremble as she picks up David Copperfield and begins to read, “Chapter One—I am born.”

The scene transitions to the clock on the wall, with its steady pendulum and repetitive “tick-tock-tick.” The time has passed to the point that Melanie is on Chapter 9.

It may be a bit of an exaggeration, but that is how it feels as we all wait for snow to hit the Tennessee Valley.

There are few cars on the road, and Lefty and Princess Buttercup are home.

We seem to be getting nothing more than a cold, damp rain, and we alternate between checking at NOAA.gov and our local stations—whnt.com, waff.com, and al.com.

Tick-tock-tick. Where is the snow?

Facebook is full of locals posting, “Where is the snow? Why was school cancelled? Why did I stay home from work today?”

One of my neighbors is a meteorologist. She says that snow is tricky to predict, especially for us because we live in a valley.

I have a theory. I think that the meteorologist have to err on caution to avoid what happened in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago with people getting iced-in at work or school. I’m sure that no one wants I-565 to be littered with cars and people who are stuck and can’t get home.

Meanwhile, we wait.


Chapter One—

I am born.

Obviously, newspaper is not a very good snowball insulator.

Obviously, newspaper is not a very good snowball insulator.

We're all prepared with no-bake cookies.

We’re all prepared with no-bake cookies.

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