The Slow Road to February

Metaphor

Before I get into the gloriousness of February, I felt it was somehow important to trudge back through the drifts of January before it fades from memory.

It snowed. I got to wear suspenders and a newsboy cap on New Years Eve. We left the brittle skeleton of our Christmas tree on the curb to be whisked away by the Cambridge city recycling elves. We celebrated LSB's birthday. Some friends got hitched and we stayed in a famously haunted New England inn, but, alas, no ghosts. I developed several new pet peeves (all involving snow removal and on-street parking). We stayed in an unhaunted New England inn. We ate loads of cheese and bought some cool little bowls. We made lots of stuff in my new slow-cooker, but mostly BBQ pulled-(insert meat here). The new hatchblack got progressively dirtier--with a thick layer of sludge, ice, and salt residue.

This was hanging in the unhaunted hotel

We left January--a withered and beaten-down month--curbside, on the reminants of dry pine needles. Then, it snowed some more.