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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is spending a pleasant and lazy Saturday afternoon with a cat draped across his legs and watching the first snow of the season falling around Port Swiller Manor.  It’s been coming down pretty steadily since early this morning, and although it hasn’t accumulated too much (and not at all on the driveway or sidewalk) because the temperature has been hovering right around the freezing mark, it looks like it’s beginning to pile up just a bit as the day starts to wane.

It’s not unheard of to get this kind of snow so early in December around here, but it’s not particularly common, either.  Last year we got one lousy snowfall all season – and that wasn’t until March.  I wonder if Ma Nature is thinking she needs to overachieve this year in order to make up for that. (Or was Ma going easy last year because of the Snowzilla she gave us the year before?  It’s so difficult to keep track.)

Of course, just to get into the spirit of things, the power went out for an hour or two this morning.  (Before, I might ad, Ol’ Robbo had the chance to brew his Morning Joe.)  This provoked the umpteenth return of Mrs. R and Self to what might be called the Generator Question.

We tend to lose power here fairly often, largely because we live in a wooded area and the tree limbs are forever coming down on the lines due to snow, ice, or wind.  On the other hand, said power tends to be restored fairly quickly – usually within a couple hours, although we have gone several days on end after major storms.

Mrs. Robbo says we should buy a generator almost every time this happens, but I still can’t bring myself to believe it’s worth the expense.  Surely, I argue, we can lump it for a few hours.  If the situation continues, there’s always the fireplace and the stove-top is gas.  And if worse comes to naught, we can always burn the furniture and eat the cats.  But it’ll never get that far, because past a certain point (say, 24 hours or so), Mrs. R just goes and checks into a hotel anyway, leaving Self to camp out on his own, so why bother?  Mrs. R is never satisfied by these arguments, and generally goes off grumbling under her breath.

(Ah, the felicities of unbridled domesticity.)

Anyhoo, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll toddle out and see if I can find some firewood.  Just in case I suddenly find myself needing to roast a cat, you know.  (She just ran off, by the bye.  Must have been reading this over my shoulder.)

 

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