I woke up this morning to a bell-like wind-noise hugging and tugging at the walls of my house. Warm and defiant, I huddled underneath my four inches of comforter and wished vainly for a maid.

“Hot chocolate and buttered toast for breakfast, after that my room needs tidying. One more load of laundry to be done, and then I need nothing until my afternoon cup of tea. Would you close my door, please? I’ve got Christmas presents yet to wrap.”

Then it would be easy to hop out of bed into my slippers, throw my warm bathrobe over my pajamas, and sit down at my table for breakfast and a chapter of something christmassey. As it is, I was the first of my sisters to see that not only was there a strong wind outside but it was carrying with it gusts and whirls of snow! Unfortunately, none of it has yet decided to take up residence on anything but our car which must be coaxed out to the street today, poor thing.

“[She] tried to say ‘Humbug!’ but stopped at the first syllable.”
--Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

. . . one hour into the future . . .

The snow is sticking on the ground and in the windows of the houses across from ours. Not even an inch of sticky snow has fallen yet, though the temperature is dropping slowly and I plan to spend most of my day in view of the sky and the snow. Elanor, my plump and adorable feline companion, has buried her nose in the crook of my elbow as I’m trying to type, but she doesn’t seem to mind the constant tap-tapping of my hunt-and-peck typing (I can hear you laughing from here). She is so warm and so soft and small and afe m fec0tionate. And she likes to helpme type. I am abjectly dismal for those of my Readers who are allergic to cats. av

It has just been discovered that my Christmas Eve will not, as previously thought, be spent lazing around the house reading and being generally useless to the rest of humanity, but chopping and cooking and making things. Not the whole time, of course, but I suspect a pretty deal of it. *sigh* Hey stop that, no more sighing. Hey-nonny-nonny, and all that rot from Much Ado . . .

*hums to herself*