Three is enough

 Day three of inclement weather. No more snow since yesterday—instead, freezing rain, which is worse. It just covers every surface with a coat of ice. Now it’s just inching above 32° Fahrenheit. (I’m so proud I spelled Fahrenheit correctly on my first attempt.) It’s sprinkling rain. Where there is snow, it’s just getting rained on. Where the snow was light (under a slatted shelter) it has turned to slush. Rain and this temperature make everything slippery.

I can own to a slight feeling of ennui. All my needs are provided for. I’m not short of food or necessary supplies (read: toilet paper). The power is on, the heater works, and I am warm (enough) and dry. But the confinement becomes just a little tedious.

On Facebook, my friends with school-age children are expressing their anticipation of Monday and—they hope!—schools opening back up. Lots of businesses have been posting closures or shortened hours both for safety of their patrons and because employees can’t come in. It’s starting to look a lot like covid. But, thankfully, it will not last so long. 

What a drag the pandemic was. I attribute my mental breakdown a couple years age to covid isolation. I’m still recovering. I never actually got covid, itself, ironically, but it still made me ill.

But let’s talk about more pleasant things. Um… January is more than half over—hurrah! The winter holidays are like wonderful food, and the post-holiday season is like acid reflux. Oops, forgot to be pleasant.

Handiwork, such as knitting or needlepoint, has been in abeyance ever since I brought home Beatrice three years ago. Each year for three years I adopted a puppy. Puppies are ebullient. Energetic. Lively. Hyper. Every time I sit on my couch, I am swarmed by ebullient, energetic, lively little furballs, all anxious to lick my face and also to prevent the other two from sharing in that pleasure. They wiggle and wag and chew each other’s faces and paw at me and climb up my person as though a wonderful prize waited at the top. My face, lickable. 

By now, Beatrice is three and no longer inclined to chew my fingers and anything they’re holding (like knitting needles). Benedict is two, and calmer than he used to be. Rosamond is one and still highly excitable, and her antics influence Benedict. So it’s just not relaxing or tranquil to sit on the couch, and working on a craft is impossible. I’m hoping Rosamond starts to calm down as she passes her second birthday this summer.

We have reached maximum puppy.