Not yet completely awake, but with a mini-essay fully formed in her head, Fiorella rose straight up and hurled herself out of bed--into the arms of total vertigo.
Momentum impelled her against a wall and she stayed there for a long time. If this didn't pass, she'd have to call to Husband, still sleeping, for help.
She should have known better. Usually she wakes slowly, staying in bed for as long as an hour to sample the morning. When she finally does rise, mindful of the day-long vertigo that ensued when she rose straight up from a doctor's examining table once, she always turns to the side and lifts slowly.
She's semi-okay now as she writes. Husband was allowed to continue sleeping. All will be well in Casa Fiorella--if she remembers to be careful about the way she rises from a recumbent position.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Poesy
When Fio did her early morning weather observation by stepping outside to get the paper, she noticed there were still several coin-sized spots of snow left in front of the porch. The largest was the size of a silver dollar.
Fio is rich indeed.
What happed to the snows of yesterday?
Sunk underground, the poets say,
To nurture the darling buds of May.
Fio is rich indeed.
What happed to the snows of yesterday?
Sunk underground, the poets say,
To nurture the darling buds of May.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Five Ways
How y'all know it has indeed snowed in Central Texas:
1) The roads get sanded
2) Businesses and state offices release their employees early
3) It's the lead story in the newspaper
4) TV news stations run photos of every snowman they can locate
5) Fio devotes four rhapsodic blogs to the phenomenon
P.S. When stepping outside to retrieve the newspaper this morning, Fio bid farewell to the last of the snow, a pizza slice of white in front of her north-facing front porch.
Adieu, adieu, or, as Tennessee Williams said, ou sont les neiges d'antan . . . .
1) The roads get sanded
2) Businesses and state offices release their employees early
3) It's the lead story in the newspaper
4) TV news stations run photos of every snowman they can locate
5) Fio devotes four rhapsodic blogs to the phenomenon
P.S. When stepping outside to retrieve the newspaper this morning, Fio bid farewell to the last of the snow, a pizza slice of white in front of her north-facing front porch.
Adieu, adieu, or, as Tennessee Williams said, ou sont les neiges d'antan . . . .
Thursday, February 25, 2010
On the Scene
Recognizing her scientific duty, Fio took extensive notes during Tuesday's snowfall. After all, there might never be another.
About 7:00 a.m., she heard an insistent pinging and discovered that little ice granules were attacking her roof and windows. They were too solid to be sleet, too small to be hail, and too hard to be snowflakes so she labeled the whole phenomenon an ice storm.
By 8:00, big, fat white snowflakes were falling like dandruff. They looked fake, similar to the soapflakes Hollywood uses in every Christmas movie you've ever seen, but Fio was afraid to look away for fear the miracle would cease.
Wendy Dog wasn't too anxious to go out and neither was Fio, but your correspondent did want to see everything. From window to window she rushed, trying for the best view. The east side of the yard was a little sparse still, but the west side of the yard was covered in white except for the gravel drive winding through it.
Soon huge flakes began to fall, floating down like chicken feathers. Noticing that the tops of trees were dusted with white, Fio ran upstairs to check the views from there--snow an inch thick on the metal roof, two inches thick on the northside window ledges. From Husband's study, she had a spectacular view of the snow-covered woods.
Then the flakes became smaller and the fall less dense, finally turning back into ice again.
By 9:00, Fio thought everything was over, but when she sat down at the piano and played several Christmas carols, the snow started up again--ten more minutes of it. Obviously music turned the tide.
By 10:30, she opened herself to the possibility the snow was going to keep coming. The ground was covered now, and most of the driveway. Now Fio became concerned about Husband getting home from work in the late afternoon--she doubted there were many snowplows available in central Texas.
This whole time, Fio was dashing around like the madwoman she is, calling Husband to report every flake, contacting daughter in Austin, even calling Friend Marion, who knows snow because she's from Nova Scotia.
By 12:00, the sky, yard, and trees were all blanketed in white. Husband came home soon thereafter, and Daughter phoned that her employer was also releasing everyone early. Husband being Husband, he immediately bundled Fio up in a warm jacket and had her walk the driveway with him and Wendy Dog. Fio being Fio, she burst into "Walkin' in the Winter Wonderland" as they surveyed their snowclad kingdom. Wendy being Wendy, celebrated by getting loose and romping through the woods until being lured home by promise of a treat.
The snow fell intermittently through the day and evening, probably three inches in all, although four inches piled up on the north-facing window ledges. It was glorious.
Fio anticipated rising the next day to a soggy but snowless nature; however, while the trees were bare, the ground snow was still in place, frozen overnight into a diamond crust which glittered in the bright dawn.
********
Oh, ecstasy! Thursday morning and patches of snow linger still in the shadows on the north side of the house!
God is good.
About 7:00 a.m., she heard an insistent pinging and discovered that little ice granules were attacking her roof and windows. They were too solid to be sleet, too small to be hail, and too hard to be snowflakes so she labeled the whole phenomenon an ice storm.
By 8:00, big, fat white snowflakes were falling like dandruff. They looked fake, similar to the soapflakes Hollywood uses in every Christmas movie you've ever seen, but Fio was afraid to look away for fear the miracle would cease.
Wendy Dog wasn't too anxious to go out and neither was Fio, but your correspondent did want to see everything. From window to window she rushed, trying for the best view. The east side of the yard was a little sparse still, but the west side of the yard was covered in white except for the gravel drive winding through it.
Soon huge flakes began to fall, floating down like chicken feathers. Noticing that the tops of trees were dusted with white, Fio ran upstairs to check the views from there--snow an inch thick on the metal roof, two inches thick on the northside window ledges. From Husband's study, she had a spectacular view of the snow-covered woods.
Then the flakes became smaller and the fall less dense, finally turning back into ice again.
By 9:00, Fio thought everything was over, but when she sat down at the piano and played several Christmas carols, the snow started up again--ten more minutes of it. Obviously music turned the tide.
By 10:30, she opened herself to the possibility the snow was going to keep coming. The ground was covered now, and most of the driveway. Now Fio became concerned about Husband getting home from work in the late afternoon--she doubted there were many snowplows available in central Texas.
This whole time, Fio was dashing around like the madwoman she is, calling Husband to report every flake, contacting daughter in Austin, even calling Friend Marion, who knows snow because she's from Nova Scotia.
By 12:00, the sky, yard, and trees were all blanketed in white. Husband came home soon thereafter, and Daughter phoned that her employer was also releasing everyone early. Husband being Husband, he immediately bundled Fio up in a warm jacket and had her walk the driveway with him and Wendy Dog. Fio being Fio, she burst into "Walkin' in the Winter Wonderland" as they surveyed their snowclad kingdom. Wendy being Wendy, celebrated by getting loose and romping through the woods until being lured home by promise of a treat.
The snow fell intermittently through the day and evening, probably three inches in all, although four inches piled up on the north-facing window ledges. It was glorious.
Fio anticipated rising the next day to a soggy but snowless nature; however, while the trees were bare, the ground snow was still in place, frozen overnight into a diamond crust which glittered in the bright dawn.
********
Oh, ecstasy! Thursday morning and patches of snow linger still in the shadows on the north side of the house!
God is good.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Fio's Joy
It's 7:30 a.m. and the snow's still here, despite the rising sun. Fio is overjoyed. Maybe vestiges will still be there tomorrow, under the protective canopy of the woods surrounding her house. While they last, they will be Fio's secret treasure.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Kinky Is As Kinky Does
Fiorella woke up to an ice storm--at least that's what she thinks one calls a weather phenomenon somewhere between sleet and hail. Ice crystals are coating the ground, and snow is predicted for the day.
SNOW? In Central Texas? In late February?
Fio can vaguely remember years ago, when snow fell every three years or so(occasionally several inches deep), but it's been a scarce commodity in recent times. And she can't EVER remember it snowing in late February. Everyone knows the best chances for snow`are in late January, early February, that if there is none by then, there never will be.
But here we are--first a drought of several years, then a lot of rain, now snow. The weather is getting downright kinky, just like predicted by global warming theorists.
What's next, will Pilot Knob, our local extinct volcano, start blowing its top?
SNOW? In Central Texas? In late February?
Fio can vaguely remember years ago, when snow fell every three years or so(occasionally several inches deep), but it's been a scarce commodity in recent times. And she can't EVER remember it snowing in late February. Everyone knows the best chances for snow`are in late January, early February, that if there is none by then, there never will be.
But here we are--first a drought of several years, then a lot of rain, now snow. The weather is getting downright kinky, just like predicted by global warming theorists.
What's next, will Pilot Knob, our local extinct volcano, start blowing its top?
Monday, February 22, 2010
Clean-out
Over the weekend, Fio and Husband put half an hour into the garage and unpacked the last of the boxes from their move five years ago. All sorts of things turned up--among them, several unopened model train kits, two old wall mirrors, and an antique picture frame.
Fio, who likes to hold onto things in case they might be useful some day, had a hard time parting with the mirrors, but the frame went straight to the "donate" pile. It had been painted over with white back in the day when white frames were all the rage, and Fio wasn't about to try to re-gild it.
Husband, though, couldn't let go of the model train kits. After all, he needs a hobby.
Toot-toot! All aboard!
Fio, who likes to hold onto things in case they might be useful some day, had a hard time parting with the mirrors, but the frame went straight to the "donate" pile. It had been painted over with white back in the day when white frames were all the rage, and Fio wasn't about to try to re-gild it.
Husband, though, couldn't let go of the model train kits. After all, he needs a hobby.
Toot-toot! All aboard!
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