Winter has finally arrived in the Northeast, commencing with that loveliest and most dreaded of conditions, the ice storm. The last major ice storm that our locality has seen was in 2003; we seem to receive at least two per decade. The 2003 version was annoying but we toughed it out, spending the majority of our time huddled under two comforters and a pile of lesser blankets, listening to our portable radios and thanking ourselves for having plenty of batteries on hand. That year, the power was off for only a few days; in 1991 the power was off for over two weeks, and we ended up staying with some friends in the city, which naturally had a higher priority in the matter of power restoration than did the suburbs.
Yesterday was not much of anything to write about; despite the overheated excitement of the weather reporters, the coating of ice was thin and the lights only flickered a few times at midday - it would have inconvenienced my heating oatmeal had the power gone, but not much else. We are very lucky in that after the ‘91 storm, the park made a wise decision to place all lines underground, and the only way we lose power now is if a substation is taken out.
The sky is of a gray quite bright; near the brilliant circumference of the sun the atmosphere contains a hint of salmon color, very pretty in its way - it is nice to be able to enjoy the nuances and subtleties that are there represented. We are now receiving our first authentic snowfall. If we are lucky, it won’t amount to much, and we will have the pleasure of viewing the snowy landscape without having to move portions of it so as to allow us to go anywhere.
Awhile ago, when we were yet working, I remember that I had written down a few themes that I thought at the time might be nice to incorporate into a crossword someday. This was, of course, long before it occurred to us that we had some small talent for constructing puzzles - indeed, before we possessed the wherewithal to construct them. Now those themes are tucked away in the security and solitude of a binder pocket - and we have no idea which binder, in which mound of detritus, might hold those golden little products of vagary.
We hope, friends, that you are all enjoying your day as much as we are ours.
Peace be with you.
Bonnie and Walt