God, the south has weird weather.
It’s been in the sixties this week, which would be weird enough for January–my swamp jasmine broke dormancy and commenced climbing– but tonight it’s supposed to snow like a bear. 5-10 inches predicted, then sleet, then ice, and basically the weather service is telling us that we won’t be leaving the house until Monday.
I am somewhat sympathetic to the guy at the coffee shop who said dryly that he wasn’t going to worry until they started saying there was no chance of snow whatsoever–the last few Massive Apocalyptic Blizzards Of Doom that were predicted involved a couple of flakes and a run on eggs, milk and bread.* Problem with being out in the boonies is that if we actually do get the worst-case scenario of the ice accumulation they’re forecasting, the power goes down in a big way–we’re seriously rural out here–which means that nothing at all gets done for the three or four days it takes to fix, and I’ll be rebooting the fish tank. (I grant you, prolonged forty degree water would probably finally kill those hydroids, but I feel bad for my inverts.) We’ve got a gas fireplace, so we won’t die or anything, just gotta move into the living room, but the fish tank will only last as long as the battery backup, or the road conditions, as I’m not above driving to Otter’s with a load of coral crying "Sanctuary!"
So if there’s internet silence for a few days, it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I’m buried up to my eyeballs in snow and all.
I suspect we’ll probably get a few inches, perhaps a slightly slick weekend, then it’ll all melt Monday. But hey, y’never know.
*As many have observed before and since, the weather gods must REALLY like French Toast.