In Baltimore sn*w is a dirty word. They panic here. Bread, milk and tp disappear from store shelves the instant the S word is mentioned in the weather forecast. Some brave souls, made of stronger stuff, will brave the elements in that all important trek to the 7-11 for cigarettes, sn*w be damned. Justin Berk will shovel a patch of sidewalk, just for show. Rob Roblin will interview folks in the local diner: "So it's sn*wing outside, how's that working for ya?" Or words to that effect. Traffic on the beltway will slow to a crawl at the first sign of a flake. Really.
Every year I joke with B about it, every year the same. Except this year. We haven't had much in the way of sn*w this year, less than an inch a week ago and that's about it. Today is the second sn*w of the season, at least here in Bel Air.
You may have to squint to see it. The panic this will bring is almost incalculable.
Safe inside, I've been working on the purple sweater for Mom. It was supposed to be done for Christmas, but the first version was much too large (didn't have her measurements), and the second much too small (cast on with a smaller needle by mistake). After reskeining and washing the yarn to get the kinks out I started again.
Two sleeves to go, a mitered V neck ribbing and the sewing up. Hopefully this one will be just right and I can send it off. Because I'm really tired of purple Cotton Fleece. Really.
P.S. Go Kimmie!