Today is about 1'C. It's snowed a bit for the last three. I am still deeply amazed and awed by snow. I love it. I spent most of the first day just sitting in my front window and looking at it. Turbulence, writ large. The cats liked looking at it too. I've enjoyed the proper cold.
My step count has flip-flopped between 0 and 12,000 daily this year so far, and I am fine with this. Cardio? What's that again? But today, after the snow, there is blue sky, so I wanted to get out and feel the air and look at the humans. I chose my clothes carefully, for the perfect warmth.
- Black undies
- Black lycra leggings
- Cream sweatpants, cotton
- Short woollen socks, greys & purple stripe
- Bright blue long sleeve tshirt, one of those warmth trapping layers
- Navy cotton sweatshirt, shorter sleeves
- Deep purple scarf
- 2015 season camel Uniqlo coat with "fur" collar
- Tan leather mittens
- Tan leather lace-up boots
- Hand-knitted blues & maroon beanie (thanks, Laura!)
It was PERFECT. I liked the way the colours matched, but I also loved how warm I was. The only adjustment I made was mittens on or off.
I went down to the Angel to find some dark chocolate from Paul A. Young (which has now become essential?!), and to maybe find some lunch? I wandered along the little back alley street thingy behind the high street, but lots was closed. Then I saw a tiny cheese shop with a chalkboard sign that said
HOT MELTING
CHEESE
TOASTIE
&
MONMOUTH
COFFEE
so in I went, and ordered exactly that.
I had a nice chat to the other small business owner and found quite a lot in common. Twice I said I will do my best to help him, but my stomach can only stomach so much cheese. The toastie was big but not too big, and absolutely delicious.
It should like many of use are now beginning to plan how to get out of all this, which is making me feel positive. That, plus the snow, which has now just about melted.
 |
| Toastie, or heart? |
Here's a story I wrote for Creative Writing homework. It's not really edited. Read it to your kid if you have one.
Week 4 homework by George OatesSophie gasped. She knew that little basset hound was Grandma’s favourite. Every time she’d visited since she was three she’d noticed it sitting there amongst the other figurines on the side table. But this visit, her brother decided to chase her from the kitchen. She’d whipped round the corner into the lounge, and tripped on the edge of the rug. As she reached back to stop herself, she connected with a leg of the side table with her foot, and the basset hound and a sleeping fox were flung at speed at the brick fireplace.
The table had been there so long there were deep divots in the carpet. Her brother moved it back to its position. The other figurines were ok - jersey cow, a King Charles spaniel, and two doves in a nest - but since Grandma dusted her home regularly, he just guessed at their proper positions from memory.
Sophie dropped to her knees by the broken pieces. The fox was beyond repair, she thought. Its tail - which previous to the accident tickled sweetly upward at the end - had cracked off completely at the fox’s bum. She thought it might have hit the brick head-first, because she saw shards of orange and white thrown across the brick and into the rug and no sign of anything looking like a pointy snout or a pointy ear. Even with a pristine vacuum bag it would be a nightmare to pick everything up, and the hardest jigsaw in the world to repair. Picking up the fox's tail, which was still charming, and the body piece, sans head, she gently positioned the tail in its correct spot, which was very pleasing. That fix would be a simple glue job, but the fox would be decapitated.
As you know, the basset hound is sometimes also known as the Very Long Dog, and this figurine was no exception. White, black, and tan, and with a tail standing proudly up, this was definitely the friendliest in Grandma’s collection. Sophie remembered touching the top of her finger to the tip of the dog’s tail, always careful to not press too hard. She knew the figurines were fragile, but never knew how fragile, until now.
“Nate - go get the dustpan and broom. Don’t let Grandma see!"
Sophie couldn’t see the basset hound. They’d sat by the fire last night before bed, so there was ash under the grate. Sophie saw the dog’s periscopic tail peeking up out of it. She picked up the brush and spade and had to lie on her side to manoeuvre the brush to reach the dog's tail. Just as she was about to brush it towards her, she heard her Grandma behind her.
“Sophie darling, what are you up to?"
“Ahh, umm, I’m sorry, Grandma. We had an accident. Nate tripped me up by mistake and I kicked the table with your figurines on and the fox is broken and I’m trying to find the basset hound.”
Grandma turned to the table, then turned back. She paused, looking straight at me. “You know, I’ve always hated those things. Grandpa’s father gave them to me for various birthdays, and you know how we feel about him.”
“Let’s finish the job,” she said, and handed me the cow.