The forecast just reads “wicked cold” as far out as it runs; it could be permanent for all I know. I expect when the groundhog peeks out on Monday, his eyeballs will freeze solid, hypothermia will stop his heart and he will topple back into his burrow, dead.
According to traditional lore, I believe that means 12 more weeks of winter. R.I.P. Punxsutawney Phil.
I am not a fan of this. This is weather that 2000-piece jigsaw puzzles are made for. And while I won’t actually stick my nose outside the door long enough to need it for warming purposes, I may drink some hot chocolate, in sympathy with those who venture forth like intrepid astronauts onto unearthly terrain. I’ll enjoy reading about their adventures from a chair next to the heat vent.
More power to all of you who delight in skiing and skating, ice climbing, snowmobiling and polar bear swimming, etc. That’s what emergency services are there for.
I’ll be right here–and that’s right–still in my bathrobe, squinting at the glare outside the window. I may read a little; I may even nap a little. The pantry is full and so is the fuel oil tank. It’ll be OK.