Random Bullets of . . .Snow?

It has snowed here in a major way (I will try to post pictures), and while this is child's play compared to the snow that happens in Snowstorm City and points west and north, having this much snow and having it last is both a novelty and a welcome change from those 0 degree (-18 for Canadian readers) days last week. The downside? All the trees look so pretty with snow-laden branches that I have a totally uninvited and unwanted smarmy 1950s version of "Winter Wonderland" running in my head.

I helped a friend to move out of an apartment yesterday.

This gets my vote for the most Not Helpful factoid of the weekend: in the course of writing on an author, I learn that she kept dual typewriters so that she could work on two novels at once, turning out something like 7,000 words at a time. That means A DAY. This makes me feel incredibly lame, or--wait, maybe I'm an "artiste" like Oscar Wilde, who said that a day's work for him was taking a comma out of a poem in the morning and putting it back in in the afternoon.

The cats hate the snow. Here are their thought processes, as best I can reconstruct them:

I open the back door. They stand there, sniffing the air.

Cat 1: "She is playing a practical joke on us, right? What has she done with the good weather?"

Cat 2: "Maybe the other door will have better weather. Let's wait till she closes this door and beg to be let out the front door."

Cat 1: "Didn't we try that five minutes ago?"

Cat 2: "Maybe she has relented and made the cold go away this time."