The Front of Das Rhino's Hacienda
As i sit here at 12:30am, the snow is falling very hard outside my window, wind whipping it in an energetic frenzy, in almost a straight line, horizontally. The weatherman says that its falling at the rate of between 2 and 4 inches per hour. The weather man says this is a record snow event. The weather man says there may be up to 24 inches of snow before all is said and done. That is great. But I really don’t care about how much snow falls. That it is falling is enough. It helps melt the stress of the times away for me, and helps create that warm feeling that can only happen near Christmas.
I’m sitting in a warm apartment with my wife, listening to Christmas Carols at a mellow volume, enjoying Frank Sinatra singing “Mistletoe and Holly”, and a plethora of other tunes with a glass of chardonnay in hand. My wife got a few bottles of wine and other assorted festive holiday treats in a gift basket as a thank you for a years worth of blogging. It’s not the best vintage, that is a guarantee, but it’s fine by me.
I’ve had all of 2 glasses of the Sycamore Valley wine, small ones. I’m not a wine connoisseur, when I drank regularly I was more the cheap American beer/Tequila drinker, wine wasn’t my thing, so I couldn’t really tell you how good it is. It’s fine for me. I’m not drinking it for any other reason than because my wife is drinking it, and that gives it all the flavor I need.
I’m in kind of a mellow mood. The wine has helped to loosen up my back and my quadriceps, which have been sore as hell all day, after yesterday’s workout and the last 2 days running. A welcome respite from the pain. And I get to relax on a rare night without the concerns of most other days. It can snow a million inches for all I care. I don’t get stress free time like this very often, I’m enjoying it.
No news. No stress over finances. Nothing but joy and time well spent with my wife, which I am interrupting writing this. So I’m done. Truly a good night.
Good Night.
Today’s Nugget, Via wikiquote: …the wind had dropped, and the snow, tired of rushing around in circles trying to catch itself up, now fluttered gently down until it found a place on which to rest, and sometimes the place was Pooh’s nose and sometimes it wasn’t and in a little while Piglet was wearing a white muffler round his neck and feeling more snowy behind the ears than he had ever felt before. A.A. Milne
