As if remorseful for the dingy gray drabness of the day, it is snowing again. We shall see what happens.
My wife has spent the day in bed, what she calls a “Relax-A-Fest”, what I call ignoring, possibly avoiding, me. I succumbed to the Temptress of Industry and vacuumed the carpet. There are black eye peas and tomatoes with onion simmering away, a sweet potato baking and soon a nice piece of sockeye salmon will be grilling in the oven. All wintry delights I guess, filling the house with heat and kitchen smells.
A day at home makes my disjointed world more painful. But what I write keeps the door to sanity open.