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Somewhere tropical. Anywhere tropical. Note the lounge chairs in the infinity pool. This way Ewan McGregor the waiter can cool his feet while he delivers my frozen daiquiri.


It snowed again today. About an inch an hour, on top of the gazillion inches we already have from the nine storms (including one blizzard) we’ve had since Boxing Day. The snow banks are so high at the street corners that you have to eek out into the intersection and pray you are not hit by oncoming traffic. And tomorrow will be a mix of icy rain and snow, to put a nice crunchy coating on top of everything. The BF is a HS music teacher and hasn’t had a week without at least one snow day since December 13 (lucky stiff, I still have to trudge to work most “snow days”).

Despite my complaining I really do love the seasons, including winter. The black trees against the white snow. The woodsy aroma of fireplace smoke in the crisp cold. The prospects of sledding, ice skating, skiing (haven’t been in years), snowshoeing (never been, would like to try it). The smell of snow in the air is palatable when the forecast calls for only an inch or two. But the pristine whiteness immediately after it falls is too quickly marred by brown road salt and debris, chunks of dirty ice and a slushy gray haze like a muddy skirt hem. New snow is beautiful. Old snow is sad and depressing, and sticks around way too long. Longer if you have as much of it as we do…

Please little groundhog, please don't see your shadow tomorrow…