(Here are some pieces of cranberry glass, silhouetted against the snowy yard.)
Every time I hear the weatherman (woman? person?) predicting a snow storm, my skepticism blows in as furious as a nor'easter.
So many times predictions of big storms fill the newspapers and television screen and then the storm fizzles to pathetic proportions. Once, I even remember schools being closed in anticipation of a storm that took a different route at the last minute and completely bypassed this area. That was a hoot and I couldn't help laughing my head off.
The weather forecasters predicted a huge storm for this weekend with heavy accumulation of what they described as "light" snow. So, Friday afternoon, when I got home, I made sure the large brass box in the living room was filled to the brim with logs from the side porch. My husband, bless his heart, had the fireplace ready to go so I just had to open the flew, light up the newspapers at the bottom, and start the fire.
(Stained glass pieces are among favorite art objects around here. )
There's something terribly soothing about a fire crackling in one's living room as snow falls in a profusion of millions of flakes from the sky. Because we've been trying to save money on the oil bill, temps in this old house have been kept at a frosty 60 degrees during the day. Consequently, I put on my warmest polyester pink nubby sweater and fleece slacks and socks. Even before the fire was lit, the living room felt pretty toasty.
Of course, as soon as the fire was lit, the snow outside stopped falling. Incredulously, I stared out the window and saw nary a single white flake coming down from the sky.
I kept the fire going for at least seven hours before going to bed.
Since then, we've had a light dusting of snow, the kind that makes everything extra pretty, like white frosting on a cake.
As for the big whammy of a snowstorm, maybe it passed us by or perhaps it's on its way. After all, it is winter in New England.
DO YOU BELIEVE WEATHER PREDICTIONS?
.JPG)
.JPG)
