No snowshoeing and no hot sulphur springs: the windchill in Grand Lake is going to be -20, and the gusts will approach gale strength. So instead I will paint and demolish some cabinets and hope that next weekend is warmer and sunnier. Four days of snow between now and then, as forecast, would make for great snowshoeing next weekend.
Probably because I saw JoAnne who reminds me of my publishing professor--oh, and also because yesterday Haitch's professor made the same mistake about Blake that mine did*--last night I dreamed of the latter. CLH, who organized my wonderful 30th birthday party, led (my class? a group of dream-strangers?) us onto a school bus that brought us to a wonderful, Charenton-like house. Charenton-like because of the fruit growing everywhere, but Green Knowe-like in architecture, with a little bit of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle thrown in for magic, and Phoebe for nostalgia. Everyone suddenly knew how to cook and created a feast with the produce of the gardens that everyone else had gathered, and we all pitched in with our various talents like the Country Bunny's 21 children. The occasion was a Great Expectations-style wedding: seemingly unplanned but perfect and sweet and filled with love. I don't know from what mental recess I pulled a groom for my professor--I think he was an amalgam of my favorite Phoebe patrons.
Now that's a dream.
* When we bought the house, I sent change-of-address cards to everyone announcing that Lisa, RDC, and Blake had moved. My professor, with whom I was in mere year-end card contact, wrote congratulating me on the house but mostly on the offspring she assumed Blake represented. I responded, thanking her and confirming that while yes, Blake ruled the roost, he was our pet and not our child.