Italian cover of years ago that praises spring.
Spring in Italian language is Primavera.
Notifications
Clear all
So far we've managed to do the following:
Stock up on non-perishable food
Renew our car insurance -- the insurance office is closed, but they had established a procedure to renew by phone
Renew my driver's license -- the office had a lineup outside, and everyone was screened before going in. Workers inside were gloved, but not masked.
Get my prescription filled -- the doctor is no longer accepting walk-ins except in urgent cases. Prescriptions can be renewed by telephone, and pharmacies will accept prescription by telephone from doctors.
My pension income is holding, but the income from my investments has dropped, but so far not to critical levels.
Sorry if that was interesting...
VS
Snow is expected in my area next week. Snow has become customary for a few years in the spring.
I love a late snowfall -- it is like winter is short-stacked and is shoving its last 2 big blinds with 83o
I'll be going out today to get milk, fresh fruit and vegetables and some other food.
Also I will stock up on wine and beer since the liquor stores are still open.
Wish me luck!
Good luck !!! I am 2 days with a clear sky without even a cloud but with very cold air. The forecast tomorrow will give snow ..... we'll see.
Rain.
But today is no-poker day until after I get the house tidied and the laundry done.
Wish me luck! (unfortunately, unlike poker, luck won't help do the laundry)
Laundry all caught up!
The good luck did indeed help, since one of the baskets I was going to wash turned out to be full of clean laundry.
My horoscope for today:
You will be spending more time than usual indoors
Today it will snow, and in this moment where we are all at home, I was reminded of a beautiful poem that was studied as children at school.
A classic from an American poet...
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I once wrote poetry just for myself -- I was too self-concious to show it to others.
I still have the notebooks somewhere (I hope).
What I admire about poets is that they are willing to put their inner selves on display, with very little compensation