Yes, we have no bananas (and other miscellaneous)

I love the title of this article: Round 4 Of Cold and Snow, Are You Kidding? It's the contents of the article I'm not so wild about.

The constant sounds outside our window are whirring, splashing, people yelling, and the miraculous sound of tire rubber accidentally catching pavement. The three inches or so of ice has finally melted off Emerson street (from the first snow) to reveal potholes. A friend came onto Cap Hill this weekend and said that 11th avenue was the worst he'd seen. Apparently Five Points is seeing more plow action than the hipsters on the Hill are. The City and County of Denver had better watch out, or we'll start generating some sort of volatile concoction using our empty San Pellegrino bottles.

As an attempt at consolation, I've been reading Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter. She and her family are snowed in from October to April with no entertainment other than singing. I keep thinking to myself, "It's not so bad! AV does not need to drive 40 miles for wheat!" And of course, all of these things are true and there really is no comparison. But somehow, facing down more snow and cold -- even in the comfort of my home -- is not something I'm looking forward to. I do catch myself in fleeting moments of panic where I think it would be a good idea to shovel out all the empty parking spots on the street or shovel out the ruts in our alley, but then I realize that more snow is coming and it probably wouldn't have the desired effect. One benefit of all this is the unprecedented snow days that AV has been having. His students are, in his words, "all gloom and doom" about this next storm. I think everyone is hoping for a deep freeze (and a late sleep) -- he says all this talking about it will make it much kinder than we all hope.

In news in the "that was really stupid, although well-intentioned" department, last night I played volleyball with a few layers on. While I was trying to maximize my fat-burning potential, I may have nearly given myself heat stroke. Note to self: shorts and tee-shirts, not pants and two shirts for future games.

Onwards and upwards, while firmly snuggled under covers and wearing wool socks, I guess.