A Last Hurrah for Winter

It's not like I'm going to miss winter -actually I can't be missing it yet because though we've seen hints of spring it's not spring here yet- but there's been so much response to my bread pudding (which I think was visceral half to the bread pudding itself and half to the snowy picture I included) that as I'm extremely busy right now and can only work on the post about my grandfather (see previous post) incrementally, I thought I'd post a little last hurrah for winter and snow, since everyone else has the beginning of spring covered right now.

We haven't really seen any proper snow here this year, so these are pictures from that one day last year I mentioned in the bread pudding post where we woke up to six inches of snow and I locked myself out of the house while walking the younger spazzy dog...and somewhat inappropriately dressed...and heavily pregnant. No, I didn't take these pictures while I was locked out, I took them after A. came home to let me in and we went back out because he knew I would want to take pictures, even if I was lumbering around like a beached whale trying to get back to water by then. I hope you enjoy them.
By the way, does anyone out there struggle as much as I do with choosing pictures for diptychs and then placing them within your post? I'm giving up after some reshuffling now because trying to look at my whole post in the Blogger window is making me cross-eyed.

It was Baby Saffron's 1st birthday yesterday! Crazy talk.
I will be back shortly with food.

Bread Pudding when I dream of snow...

Although I'd agree with anyone that there are just some kinds of cold days that are beyond miserable, I have to say I'm a cold weather kind of gal at heart. I love winter clothing, wrapping up in thick sweaters, trying different kinds of knots in my scarves every day (I wouldn't be a real French girl if I didn't have a drawer full of scarves and at least five different ways of putting them on), cradling a cup of hot chocolate or a steaming bowl of soup in my cold hands and then savoring them slowly, letting the warmth seep through me, all things I am happy for every time the calendar hits December.

Unfortunately, my ideal winter and the one I actually get here are two rather different things. I suppose I should be thankful that we don't get three feet of snow at a time the way my sister and her family do in Chicago, but a little snow once in a while would be nice, and by that I don't mean snow that I might see if I were up between 6:00 and 6:17am before it has essentially vanished, making one doubt it was ever here to begin with.
Last year there was one such day, unexpectedly. Granted, it caused the whole nation to grind to a halt and I did lock myself out of the house that morning while walking the "one who brings the crazy." But even while heavily pregnant, somewhat inappropriately dressed, trying to control one very spazzy dog reconnecting with something in her Dutch, barge-pulling, canine DNA, and walking over to the hotel nearby to call A. to come home and let me in, I was still thoroughly charmed by the six inches of snow through which I was trudging. Call me crazy.

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