Today – Saturday – we turned the furnace control to ‘on’. And it did, indeed, blast on. Rain is slashing against the windows (guess I can’t clean the outsides). The trees are being blown so heavily they look like they are bent at the waist. The leaves are faded, dropping off as if tired of fighting the elements or shrinking into sad arthritic curls that nakes the branches seem diminished. I ventured out to buy bras (no luck; oh how I hate three-way mirrors and dressing rooms bright enough to do surgery in). Instead I bought a down winter coat in case the meteologists predicting another gruesomely long cold winter are correct. I already have the dashing insulated trousers that sound like a brush fire when I walk and my thighs rub together. But I’ll be warm, dammit.
Last year this time we were packing for our trip to Dubai, Thailand and Cambodia. I swear the weather was better, though. To stoke the warmth back into my veins, I clicked open the stash of tens of thousands of photos I have in Picasa. I’m a serial clicker – no finesse when I shoot pictures, just a huge hard drive and snap, snap, snap. I’ve almost perfected the subterfuge shots, too. What great memories.