It poured all day today. Winter finally caught up, filled the streets and shed the trees of their very last leaves that were still clinging on from autumn. Crazy weather!
This is the street shot from the park. Cars kept driving through, spraying waves up on our grassy shore.
Me in plaid goulashes and yellow rain slicker. [...]
Posts Tagged ‘rain’
Sweet Rainy Day
Posted in Vegetable Stew--metaphorically, tagged rain, neighborhood, wading, goulashes, waders, yellow rain slickers, playing in the park on February 17, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
Happy Storm Watch
Posted in Vegetable Stew--metaphorically, tagged alleys, happiness, long winter walks, moss, Psycho, rain, Storms, The Shining on February 23, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
It’s Saturday and our impending storm is still . . . impending. The clouds are high and dark, chilly, light wind. I’m tickled. The big storm hits tonight. And as I sit here Psycho is playing on TCM. Janet Leigh just got it in the shower. I love it when weather matches a movie. The first [...]
Comfort Sweaters, Soulful Movies, Sad Endings
Posted in Vegetable Stew--metaphorically, tagged fabulous yarn, freedom, Heath Ledger, Into The Wild, rain, road trip, sadness, walks on January 23, 2008 | 2 Comments »
Squish, squish, squish. That’s the sound from Zephyr and I walking through the park today. It is cold outside. I’d say it’s about as cold as it gets here, w/o snowing, which it doesn’t, well, very rarely.
Still, I needed to get out and walk today, puddles or no puddles. So, I bundled up in a [...]
Fog vs. Drizzle or Mornings w/o Coffee or Yarn
Posted in Vegetable Stew--metaphorically, tagged coffee, coffee again., crochet, drizzle, rain, scarves, yarn on January 10, 2008 | 1 Comment »
It is drizzling today, the near cousin of fog. I don’t know how people survive in England or Seattle. (No offense. I like those places. I love Seattle, would move there in a heartbeat, except for the drizzle.) I was born for sunny weather, I’m afraid . . . but then not too sunny. Not [...]
- The small things of life were often so much bigger that the great things. . . . the trivial pleasures like cooking, one's home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things seen and overheard." Barbara Pym, Less Than Angels
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