Signs of the Season

In preparation for winter, I'm sorry to inform you that the battening of the figurative hatches hath begun. Canadian Thanksgiving will be upon us next weekend, and as turkeys cower in corners in an effort to look too small to cook, the rest us us can hear Jack Frost whistling in the distance, and we tremble too.

Yesterday, we cleaned out our tiny, barely-one-car garage to make room for Harriet the Chariot whenever the nasty truly weather threatens to burst upon us. The bikes were hauled into the basement and other items were stored in the garage's overhead shelves. So we're ready to drive the car in on a moments notice.

First steps were taken in readying the gardens for winter. The impatiens were pulled although the perennials have been allowed to remain in ground for the time being. I swear I can hear their petals chattering in the cold, however.

This morning, I felt compelled to extract our little portable heater from the depths and use it to warm up the bathroom prior to showering.

Furthermore, as temperatures descended to 15°C/60°F this morning, I eyed the furnace thermostat with lust in my heart. I did resist as the mercury began to climb to a balmy 16°C/61°F (please note the palindromishness of those numbers) and hopefully higher, but I will probably cave in any day now and flip the heating switch to the on position.. What can I say? I'm soft.

Meanwhile, I find comfort in wearing my hoodie in the house. We baldies lose the heat and feel the cold on our uppermost extremity, and I can't afford any more brain freeze than is normal to my sluggish thought processes.

That's all I've got today, which I don't think is all that bad considering that it's not yet ten o'clock and that I've already been up for seven hours. I did have two hours of sleep, however. I am forced to take what I can get ... and down the Tylenol like it's the most delicious candy known to humankind. Fortunately, I had a good book to keep me company through the bleak hours. It helps — quite a lot actually.