A Safe Comment About the Weather

It is gray, and sad, and stormy. The rain alternately pounds the windows and drizzles abjectly down on our bedraggled chickens.
It's one of those days that usually makes me feel warm and cozy, eager cuddle up with a hot water bottle, to read a good book and sip a cup of something.
Today, however, is a day to be grouchy, pessimistic, and cynical (the last two are NOT the same, just conveniently similar). A day to wear lots of black and eye makeup and talk in a slow, defeated voice.
Even my cat has taken refuge indoors, no doubt confused by the very confusing weather: Yesterday, it was sunny, slightly humid, and 69 degrees in the shade (though there wasn't a lot of it). Today, it is thoroughly dismal and dreary, forlorn and 42.

What ever has happened to our sub-tropical climate? Has El Ninio finally moved against us? Have the Snow Gods had a change of heart? Or maybe we'll wake next morning to find that it was just a fluke, or maybe a nasty trick played on us by those Floridians...

This is a historic day in world history.

In a good way.

On this cold and blustery Saturday in December, 2007, at 3:10 in the afternoon, it was found that EVERY SINGLE CHICKEN WE OWN IS LAYING!!!

Now, I know that we only have nine girls, but five of them are pullets.

And four of them are old, crabby ladies.

Green eggs, brown eggs, speckled eggs, big eggs, small eggs.

And the rest of Dr. Seus' books.

And ALL OF THEM ARE LAYING!!!

Today's news was earth-shattering, to say the least.
It was completely and totally unexpected. I have lost all faith in the human race. There is just nothing to believe in anymore.
And yet, it is true.
Somebody had apparently forgotten to tell our poor, naive radio networks that there are STEROIDS IN BASEBALL.
Shocking. Absolutely shocking.

Yes, the Mitchell Report has now been released.

Perhaps people will go back to eating the Red-Hots that are served at Baseball stadiums. It looks like they have fewer artificial ingredients than the players.

Fame can be so tiring. Someone discovers that under your pretense of mediocrity, there lurks an undiscovered Above-Average Person, and then it's nothing but work, work, work. That's why I'm usually an under-achiever: give them mediocrity all the time, and they'll be much more interested when you eventually display your true Above-Average Qualities. Alas, my dear masses, I have been displaying Above-Average Posting Habits for far too long, and just look at what's happened: Above Average is what you now expect.
After much petitioning from the Above-Average masses, I have decided that it is in my best interests to write an Above-Average post.

Mediocrely, of course.

My choir sang at Duke Chapel on Sunday, and it was very beautiful, and the acoustics were incredible, and the preacher-man had lots of very pretty white hair. We sang our Christmas Concert Repertoire and what felt like the entire hymnal, but it was a nice hymnal, so. That was good.
There is a podcast on the Duke Chapel website of us singing, and it is almost perfect, except that you can't hear Alicia's harp. So for some of the songs, there is silence where it is not supposed to be silent, but it sort of works.

After Duke, my dad drove me downtown, where there is a tour of historic houses every year. This year, most of the houses seemed to be as yet unfinished, but there was 411 Oakwood, with it's French Doors flanked by upside-down Christmas trees, and 523 Bloodworth, the Art Deco house with a bathtub set on illuminated blue glass cubes.
My mum sang with her a Capella group, Domestic Harmony, and they were lovely. I felt like I should be dressed in period costume and sipping tea.

That evening, my friends came over, and we had some Serious Soup, and Kasha-nut loaf, and Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie and Mulled Wine.

Today, I have been looking at different college websites, and growing steadily more depressed as I think about what the requirements are, what they will be, and what I will be able to get
done.

Are you masses appeased yet?