Cold. Cold. Cold.

That's it.

Well OK,  maybe I'll also add that,  I haven't gone outside yet today,  and I very likely will avoid it if at all possible.


I do less than fondly recall the very last winter we spent on the farm back in rural Nova Scotia.  (February of 1967)
Lordy that was cold.  I'm pretty sure our house was just one step up from that "Little House on the Prairie"  R-zip type of construction.  You know, write your name in the frost on the windows?  Load up cherry wood into the furnace that only managed to heat the middle of the living room downstairs,  while you froze under so many blankets you weren't sure if you'd die first from hypothermia,  or being crushed to death?
 Oh ya,  fun times.

So,  comparatively speaking,  even though this house is now over fifty years old (built in 1958) we're very comfortable.   So much so that,  most mornings we have no bloody idea just how cold it is outside,  until we either check the weather somehow,  or take a glance at a little gizmo that came from Santa at Christmas.

Too lazy to go downstairs,  take a pic,  upload it etc.   Stole that one off the net.  But it looks very much like this.

Just another "toy" really.

Now,  speaking of cold,  or exceptional things for that matter,  (hey, my segues aren't that strong today,  OK?)  our Christmas Cactus that we've had for over seventeen years has finally bloomed.

This too may very well be due to the cold,  as it's just a wee bit cooler in that particular upstairs bedroom,  and allegedly,  these plants need a bit of cold to shock them into blooming.   Allegedly.
I really have no idea.  It just happened.  I've threatened to throw that bugger out on a few occasions.  Bad thinking, I know.
Because well, as the plant was given to us by the Mom of a good friend of ours (and the Mom has since passed away)  turfing the plant out would have been really poor form.   Or whatever works for you .  "Bad Karma"?   Likely.

So,  the three wise guys have showed up,  so that'll be it for Christmas.   The tree has started to really ramp up the needle dropping program,  and is no longer taking on any water to speak of.
Of course,  that means that Muggins here will be back in the attic once again to bring down whatever totes all the ornaments go back into.  At least I had the presence of mind to put one of those closed cell foam pads inside the attic door,  so my poor old knees aren't right on the hard plywood.  It's not the going up there that I mind so much,  it's the crawling around on my hands and knees that I find to be somewhat less than fun.

But hey,  could be worse.  It could always be worse.


Meh,  I've got more drivel floating around in my pea brain,  but I think that'll do for this missive.

Keep your stick on the ice.

And bundle up.

Thanks for stopping by.