Every year I ask for a blizzard for my birthday, which is this week. So far, I have only gotten two, and I think the odds are long for any kind of cold weather this year. The snow is almost gone, it’s warm and damp and muddy, and it’s my least favorite kind of weather.

Despite my best efforts, the dogs track in mud, and if I’m not meticulous, leave splatters on the walls and cabinets. If I forget to close the doors to the bedroom, they leave mud on the bed. There are old beach towels spread everywhere in varying stages of dirt and dampness, and it takes time and effort to diminish the squalor.

On top of everything else, it’s too warm for a fire in the fireplace, which doesn’t draw well above 45F.

Complaining about the weather is a human pass time, I suppose, but it annoys me, particularly when I do it myself.

The dogs, blissfully uninterested in the weather—unless it’s raining, in which case they are frustrated when I won’t make it stop—are sound asleep nearby. A pair of red-tailed hawks are on the hunt in the woods, and I do not see a single squirrel or small bird anywhere.
There are worse things in life than bad weather, so we will count our blessings, instead.

Time for more coffee.