So, it's cold outside. There is some little snow on the ground, which promptly turned to slick ice after much hand-flapping and frantic running in circles by apparently this entire city. Why, yes, I have indeed been doing some mocking of my new city and its frenzied reaction to an inch or two of snow. I was particularly amused by the chains on the tires. I lived in Michigan for 12 winters plus a lot of other winter visits, and I have never in my life seen tire chains. Even last December in the mountains in Colorado, no chains. But then I come to Gone West, with its little smattering of snow, and everyone puts chains on their tires. I laid on the couch and laughed.
The gently falling snow was a perfect backdrop to a morning of baking and frosting Christmas cookies. S. and I took over her parents' house (they are off to warmer climes) and threw tray after tray in the oven. Now I have far too many cookies in my fridge. Someone needs to come take them away from me. Even yesterday, a work day, I managed to eat eight of them. And then I felt just a little bit sick from all the sugar.
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I was thinking yesterday about tapes. Do you remember tapes? Those things we used to put music on? I remember a few times, when I was little, tearing tapes apart, and I had an urge to do it again: to twirl that shiny ribbon out of the plastic casing until it curls everywhere, and to feel that satisfying snap when you stretch the tape until it breaks. And then to stomp on the plastic case.
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