With the Spousal Unit away at meetings for a few days, and with no obligations to leave the comforts of home, with the exception of tomorrow night's concert, I had grand plans for my solitude. I even bought Christmas cards. You know, just in case the muse visited.
It was such a romantic vision. The Christmas fruitcake would be baked, ensuring that this year it would have sufficient time to soak in the brandy's golden embrace. And afterwards, there I would be, ensconced in the living room with piles of books on the coffee table, art supplies spread out in the dining room, guitar lying on the floor where I left it after I had finished charming the cat with my performance, the laptop's warm glow enticing the most profound words out of my soul. Naturally, in this vision the house was also spotless.
But somehow I forgot about the realties of snow. And wind.
I have never quite understood the Spousal Unit's insistence that we leave a snow shovel propped up outside the door year-round. Sure we have experienced snow in July but it didn't really accumulate. I put my foot down on leaving a shovel at the front door as being too trashy, but did compromise and turn a blind eye to the small shovel that now has a permanent place at the back door.
This morning, I was very glad it was there. I needed it to dig my way through the knee deep snowdrift to get to the garage to retrieve the big shovel. You know you are dealing with a nasty wind when you have snow piled up against both the north and the south doors of the house.
As I was clearing the tri-layer snow on the front walk (wind-polished crust, sticky wet middle, pebbled ice layer on the bottom), my neighbours drove by in their motor home, stopping to say see you in January. I have never had the inclination to visit Las Vegas, but this morning, I was ready to ditch my lofty fruit cake baking plans and hitch a ride.
I will feel a lot better if I hear they lose a piss-pot of money.
How's the weather in your neighbourhood?