The return of the fluffy white stuff always means you have to change your thinking a bit. Add extra time for brushing off/digging out the car, seriously debate how funny you look wearing long johns under all your clothes and decide warmth is more important than the appearance of your derriere, double check every event to be sure it hasn't been cancelled due to the weather, be sure to have extra clothes and food in the car in case you get stuck somewhere (or in case it takes you 6 hours to drive the usually 15 minute commute when you're so hungry you'd get out and walk if you thought you could get to a granola bar any faster), and always, always, always be sure there are essentials in the house in case you get snowed in. I'm a little rusty on these details so last night at midnight I had to make an emergency trip to the grocery store on the way home from a birthday party. You know, those things you can't live without on a snowy Sunday... espresso and pancake mix. A girl can't be snowed in without her caffeine and sugar. It's a sad, sad state of affairs when I remembered that I was low on espresso but forgot that I am equally low on toilet paper. Priorities, after all.
The return of winter also means the return of my hat quest. Last year I tried this pattern and that, this yarn and that, and ended up with a bubbly not-so-fair-fake-isle hat and the infamous penishead hat. I'm hoping for better returns on my investment this go-around. I'm planning on starting with a beret of some sort, possibly Le Slouch or the Belle Beret, just something to get on and off the needles fairly quickly so I can get it on my head. Then I see Shedir, maybe a felted bucket hat, Calorimetry, and a standard issue black thug beanie. Yeah, you won't hold me to those plans, will you?
In other random notes, I had a strange dream last night that I have to share for the lit types in the crowd. So being the helpful one, I'm counselling this person who is clearly struggling with something deeply emotional and troubling. My sage advice went something like this: "I'm telling you, you have to go to Zora Neale Hurston. Really, I promise she won't let you down. Zora Neale Hurston will help where Amy Tan just can't. Hurston is the way to go." I don't even remember how long it has been since I have read either Tan or Hurston. Um, I would totally get it if I suggested a little George Eliot to cure your ailments, but where'd I get Hurston? It's like I'm some sort of Tylenol ad bashing on Aleve or something.
But remember ladies, as you go about your day, Zora Neale Hurston won't let you down. She'll be there when Amy Tan is just not sufficient.
I kinda missed the Thanksgiving post of beautiful food, wonderful company and a list of things I'm thankful for. The fact that this is my only picture from Turkey Day probably explains why.
So, whether you're hunkered down with pancakes or out enjoying a snow-free day, take two Zora Neale Hurstons and your own laundry basket o' booze and we'll meet back here tomorrow.