Pattern Recognition

Help me Lord, I'm feeling low. Has to be Bonnie Raitt. Then Paul Simon, Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes, a great blues set that ends with the Grateful Dead covering The Reverend Gary Davis. It's so quiet, I realize it must have snowed again, and sure enough; what a damper that puts on sound. I should be able to make it to the museum tomorrow, for the carpet guys, allowing two hours for a thirty minute commute. The roads are bad, sheets of ice, and everyone's in a hurry; but I figure to drive at about ten miles per hour, slow enough that I can stop for any eventuality. With daylight, I see that I'm not going anywhere. They were calling for an inch of new snow, but there's already eight inches and it's still coming down. A miscalculation on my part, not going to town yesterday. Winter Weather Warning in effect until ten in the morning, but at ten it's still snowing and the clouds are leaden. I haven't heard a snow-plow go by (one of the only sounds I would hear) which means they haven't salted the hill on Mackletree. I might be able to get out this afternoon, more likely tomorrow. I had a jar of high-quality roasted pepper chili base, a can of beans, and a pork tenderloin, so I made a kind of chili. B came over, and we talked about supplies as we're both low on everything. I was melting snow all day for wash water. Lovely outside, but hard on the eyes. I have to wear a ball-cap inside, so that I can see my computer screen. B thought we'd be fine, going out tomorrow, and he'll break trail. If I get safely to town, I might stay there a day or two, just to be close to the pub and to Kroger. This is brutal; B said he felt like a punch-drunk fighter, cornered, and I certainly agree with that. The ice storm of '04 was worse, but it wasn't so cold. Now I just tuck my tail between my legs, try and find a comfortable position.