Thursday at five pm, it started snowing. By six, it was a blizzard outside and it was still raging when I went to bed last night. I thought there’d be drifts this morning, but the instant I awoke, I knew it was over.
Although it was 0°, it felt considerably warmer in my unheated home this morning than it has for the past two weeks. And when I opened the door to go out and fetch wood, I could hear the wonderful sound of melting water. Now we’re in for the big melt.
The local newspaper mentioned that our school has never closed this long before, so this must have been some kind of record snowfall for Gabriola.
The dog walk this morning was disgusting. I was miserable the whole time; we walked, in rain and on slush, for an hour-and-half and the roads were treacherous.
I love the TV show, Endeavour. I’m currently watching season six. One reason I love it so much is the writing and it’s never better heard than when the resident pathologist, Dr. Max de Bryn, is speaking. In one episode, as they attend to an apparent suicide, Endeavour Morse asks de Bryn, “I don’t suppose there’s a note?”
“Oh, He’d have had his reasons,” de Bryn replies. “Love’s very popular. And with love and fishing, sooner or later it all comes down to the same thing doesn’t it.”
Morse responds with a quizzical look.
“The one that got away,” says de Bryn.
In another episode he warns Morse not to get too close to a body that’s spent a long time in the water: “This one’s as ripe and runny as a rancid Roquefort.”
I’ve done nothing but chill all day. I follow the path of least resistance.