Oh, don’t worry. I’m not encouraging a hurricane on to greater feats of destruction; I’m just making a play on words with a one-hit-wonder ’80s tune. I can’t be the first to say it.
Yes, this is another post about the weather. “Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.” I like to say it in a real air-head voice. My dad points out that people do so do something about it. They put snow tires on their car or central air in their house, as the case may be. That is, they treat the symptoms.
The symptom I’m hoping for from Irene, and no treatment necessary, is a rainy Sunday. I like to spend Saturday running around doing things, for entertainment, blog or practical purposes. On Sunday I like to relax.
A rainy Sunday, I feel, is a perfect day to watch an old movie or read a good book. And enjoy a cup of hot tea. Maybe in the mug Steven got me of Henry VIII and his wives. The wives disappear when you add a hot beverage.
I know these activities will not make for a scintillating blog post. And how much even less scintillating is a post where I’m only hoping for future weather conducive to such activities. Really, sometimes I wonder about myself.
Mohawk Valley Girl 