Punxsatawney Phil says that we have six more weeks of winter, which to me sounds like good news even though it's supposed to mean the opposite. Six more weeks is a breeze. Six more weeks means that we won't be spending June wearing sweaters huddled beneath umbrellas like last June. Does anyone recall last June, the month mistaken for Summer?
They say if Phil doesn't see his shadow (what happens to all of us on a cloudy day in February), then he stays out of his hole and acts like it's spring. Could even a groundhog be fooled into thinking yesterday was a spring day because his shadow was missing when a twenty degree wind beating against his fur? Wasn't the snow covering his hole enought to give it away?
As you can see, I've not much to blog about just some time and energy to blog. I'm not even that bitter about the winter, more settled into it, enjoying the long, reasonable excuse to stay at home.
I've spent the day writing on my new manual typewriter. I was able to complete a letter from the dog to his master (my warmup) and four pages of a new story that may end up in the dead story pile, but it's the most I've typed on that thing in a day. Unfortunately, the letter from the dog is the more interesting of the two. See next entry.
This is why I don't blog often.
