People from Maine to Michigan, Cleveland to Charlotte, are thoroughly sick of winter. It has snowed, and snowed. And snowed. The Washington Post yesterday published a front page, above the fold article entitled "Four Letter Word Blankets Region"; throughout the article, the "s" word was dashed ("s--w") or replaced with descriptive phrases as euphemisms for the expletive it has become. And the Boston/Providence area has seen some of the worst of the East Coast weather--my brother in law sent us a photo of the drifts outside his house reaching to the second floor. Meanwhile, in Georgia, my mother reported temperatures of 70 and 80, and that she was driving with the roof of her convertible down.
I overdid it on Thursday, and am now stuck with laryngitis. My cold had mostly abated thanks to a full day's rest and liberal application of zinc spray, but then I worked for 13 hours straight, including two periods shoveling snow (I think the fall totalled over eight inches) and a midnight trudge up to Connecticut Avenue to put an estate sale sign in an ice bank--the atmosphere was still, quiet--the crystalline beauty of fresh-fallen snow over houses, bushes and tree branches, shadowed artfully by streetlights, is impossible to capture with an iPhone camera! And I had a rough night sleeping on a couch at the house (the roads were too dangerous to go home, so we camped out), waking everybody up at 5 AM screaming (I was in a dream confrontation with a paint-wielding graffiti artist), which didn't do much to improve the collective outlook. I am glad I got in visits to many of my friends the last time I was here in DC, as I am way too germy to associate with any this trip.