Wednesday, January 28, 2009


A few minutes ago, I came in from shoveling snow, digging the woodpile out from under about six inches of snow, filling the woodbox and generally getting things ready to keep the family warm tomorrow. I was outside for about twenty minutes in twelve-degree weather. I was clad in a sweatshirt, sweat shorts, a pair of cotton socks and a pair of clogs. No coat. No gloves. And those clogs do nothing to keep the snow out. So my feet, after ten minutes of being back inside the house (along with the rest of my body, natch) are finally warming up.

I think it's genetic. Many years ago, one of my older sisters locked her keys in her car. She called Dad, who was at home, sick with the flu, to bail her out. He went to the rescue, clad in one of Mom's coats and a pair of wooden shoes. Of course his car runs out of gas when he's almost to my sister. She sees him walking past hooting traffic, clad as he was, her knight coming to the rescue.

So, you see, it's not really my fault. I got those genes from Dad.

Posted with LifeCast

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