Baby Dog and Fans

The new year is not starting off with season-appropriate weather. It's been misting, constantly, for what seems like eons.

Last night I walked Baby Dog down to the lodge to get my mail. We walked right into a busload of de-busing high school students, in for an evening of what promised to be lousy skiing. They are young enough that they don't seem to mind the poor skiing as long as they can hang around together, and the girls can squeal at regular intervals. They all squealed when they saw Baby Dog, who was immediately in nirvana, surrounded by dozens of kids who wanted to pet her and praise her and make a huge fuss over her. I was less thrilled, tired out by a day of work, followed by a trip to have the truck worked on. I was ready to be home, sitting with my mail in my lap, the dogs at my feet, and a glass of wine by my side. But I dealt with it, knowing my ideal evening hour would more likely be spent griping at the bills, telling the dogs to settle down and spilling the wine (if I even had any in the house).

Fog rolled in around 3 a.m., making the night pale enough to wake me up, almost pale enough to read by without a light. But strangely, at dawn, the brightness barely changed, and then it seemed like a dark and gloomy morning. What light seemed strong at 3 a.m. seemed weak at 7:30 a.m. I am starting to feel sun-starved.