Here Come Da Long Winter

I am giving in already. As I write this, I have donned my long winter socks, the ones than extend well over my shins, which are a very odd, cold spot in my very odd, old body. Seriously, the rest of me can be hunky dory, but those spots can feel icy. I put it down to back issues, but who is to know.

The point is that I am wearing long, warm, winter socks before the end of September. It has been a cool September for the most part, but this is silly. It's just not what September is supposed to be like.

Not only that, but on this very morning, after only 4:15 hours of sleep (verified by my iWatch), I was a wee bit hungry for a wee bit of toast in the wee early hours. It was the first morning when I had to warm up the butter to spread it on toast. It was only 7C/45F out, and although it wasn't that cold inside, it was cold enough to harden the butter.

Fortunately, my ancient brain was able to retain my tried and true method for softening the butter. Stick it in the microwave; turn the power level down to 3 (from 10); and, set the timer for 11 seconds. It could be slightly longer depending on the amount of butter and how solid it is.

I wrote the above on Wednesday, while it was fresh in my mind. Yesterday, we drove that long distance for our meeting with Heather, Sue's sister. This was our fourth park meeting at the halfway point between our two abodes since the pandemic descended upon us. I think this time, with vaccinations had by all, it was just a convenient but not necessary way to get together without either party having to make a major trip, which would involve at least one overnighter. 

As usual, we met at the park in Tweed. Before I left I did get a phone photo (nothing but phone photos today) of Stoco Lake on the Moira River.

Heather gave Sue a copy of her new book, Cracked Pots. Although the official release date will be Tuesday, October 05, Heather has copies, and Amazon is already delivering pre-orders. (More to come about Cracked Pots at another time.)

Callie loves me. Well, maybe not, but that's what I told Lacey when we got home. Lacey shook her paw, yawned, turned around, and walked away.

We got fries from the chip truck. Likely, they are the last fries of the year, and I think they were also the best fries of the year.

I was wearing an orange shirt (with hoodie) in honour of the National Day of Truth and Reconciliation, but you can hardly tell because by this time, it was hiding below two additional layers – sweater and jacket. There was also a layer under the hoodie. As I said at the beginning, it has been stupidly cold here considering it is (or was) still September, supposedly the most delightful month.