This is my house. This is my house in winter. This is my house in the snow in winter. This is my house in which I live. This is my house in which I live and in which I am wondering what could be so bad about global warming if I didn't have to deal with this frigid white crap anymore?
What do I usually do when the snow piles up and the icicles are hanging from the roof like giant daggers just waiting to fall and impale some unsuspecting visitor? I descend into the pit and work. I embed tiny creatures in gooey resin and stick a bunch of even tinier animal buddies in the goo around them so they won't be lonely. And I begin to relax and refocus. But not this winter. Not this long, cruel winter of unending white stuff falling from the sky. No, this winter I chop endless fat pieces of wood into endless skinny pieces of wood so we can be warm and cozy without owing the propane company our first born. I balance precariously on my roof, shoveling huge amounts of the dreaded white stuff off so the white stuff stays out of our bedroom. I spend hours viciously hacking away at the obnoxiously large blocks of ice that have frozen at the edge of that same roof. Then I find that some of those spiky ice daggers have melted and found a way to squeeze their liquid selves into the wires connecting the fire place blower to it's switch, rendering it - and my primary heat source - useless.
My husband and I will be retiring in just a couple of years. I used to be a great believer in "home is where the heart is". I have become a greater believer in "home is where the snow - ain't."
Here's wishing you all a blissfully short winter.
Best regards,
Kathy
http://nnlamps.com
