Day three of captivity.
Everything is canceled. No work, no play. I am going stir-crazy, contemplating carving the passing days in Roman numerals on the kitchen wall. Except that I don't really remember my Romans or my numerals, so when I reach 50, I'll be counting by V's.
It's not inconceivable that we'll be snowed in for days. I sift through radio stations, hearing contradictory reports that range from a 60% chance of snow on Tuesday to the possibility of 50 degrees F and rain; from possible snow on Friday through Saturday to a possible cancellation of weather as we know it on this crazy, globally warming planet.
This is the South, for ice sake! We're not upposed to be freezing our esses off more than one day each year, or at least that is what I had been self-assured when I moved here umpteen years ago. I put up with the unbearable summers precisely in order to avoid the unbearable northern winters. At least I'd put up with them until I figured out a way to escape them altogether by heading souther for the summer, to the higher altitudes of Mexico City and Cuernavaca (the City of Eternal Spring NOT infernal summer).
Now it looks like my plan to leave one week after the close of the school year will come undone; the school year might stretch into July if predictions of more snow turn into reality. I am already anticipating the relentless heat. Wish I could just mix it -- now, when I need it -- with this horrible cold.