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My horoscopes have been impressively good of late. Mine today didn’t say one thing about getting dressed and brushing my teeth, though. It took me a while to realize I’d better improvise.

Too bad the recent horoscopes didn’t foresee the tree falling at my mother’s house during a snowstorm two days after I left it forever I hope and four days before new renters/eventual owners move in, I REALLY hope. It didn’t hit the house, but did block the street in such a way that the county snowplow ignored it and barreled onto a neighbor’s lawn to create a new street which all the other neighbors used, thereby ruining these nice neighbors’ front yard.  After other nice neighbors took a chainsaw to the tree to open the road, they had to shovel 8 inches or more of snow for many many feet where the plow had not gone. I’m sure all the neighbors miss us so.

From what I gather, the tree is still blocking our driveway, which is real handy when you’re trying to empty a house and let a garage door guy and moving truck in. Not my turn to deal with this weekend, no matter what my horoscope says tomorrow. These people moving in from California will soon learn that there’s a good reason no one wrote the lyrics, “Maryland dreamin’–on such a winter’s day!”

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I’ve put in my order for the exact kind of snow day tomorrow that generates more warm, fuzzy feelings than bitter cold misery. The sort of a snow day that makes people stay home from work and do jigsaw puzzles and make fudge and go for a walk and chat with neighbors all friendly-like.

cousins in a perfectly pleasant sort of snow

I have specifically requested not to have an icy day. Ezra Jack Keats called his book The Snowy Day for a reason. Everyone has heat and can take warm baths and be all cozy inside after playing outside. That is how it should be. If we get the icy, freezing rain sort of storm, then everyone, inside and out, will be grumpy because the power will go out and movies won’t get cozied up to and brownies won’t get baked. Hmm. As long as I have enough light to read by and can melt the unsweetened chocolate over a fire, I could deal with a bowl of brownie batter, after all. It’s important to keep one’s options open.

It must be that this prolonged cold with the heavy snow over the weekend and sleet coming tonight and more snow on the way this weekend has finally triggered my hibernation instinct, and no, I’m not suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder, but these last few nights something clicks when I walk into my bedroom–and no, it’s not any rickety part of my body.

After a day of wrestling too many words into paragraphs about kids’ activities in Richmond, many of which I loathed when my kids were little, though to be fair, some of which I still find fun and worthwhile on my own (see if you can tell the difference when the Kidstuff chapter is done), one word rises up into my brain–BED.

Such a simple word, bed. The B suggests softness and comfort, the short E is all flow and ease and the D instills the word with firmness, the way I like a bed. Such a nice word. Such a nice place.  Bed.  Brain synapses seem to be shutting down. Flannel also good.  Apparently I’m reverting to a cavewoman with much nicer bedding.  Bed. Chair in front of computer just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Damn.

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