Pffft! It was warm on new years day!
Yep, it was a warm New Year's hereabouts, too, lil K ... 64, in fact.
Christmas day, on t'other hand, it was 11 below and we had two feet of snow, making for a 64 +11 = 75-degree warm up during the week. That put paid to the snow PDQ, I'm delighted to QED.
Ah well, anon, ance mair
MY god - can he be back for real!!!!!!
I would so love that. (Not to derail the possibility...)
75 degree difference, shee!
When I visited in New York last year, an epic event for me, the temperature plummeted in a devil may care way, some (let's say) 35 degrees. But 75? That is trying to a body.
Yes it is trying to one's body!
75 degrees of change in as many hours ain't all that newsworthy around here. That's why all the time I clomp about in wellies, long-hannels and a pith helmet.
Always for real, Deb, just not always bavk.
Do they have things like weather reports in Indiana?
Nah - they use groundhogs for that.
Groundhogs?!! You guys must be in exotic climbs, indeed. Folks round here can't begin to afford groundhog - ruther we are great reliars on possums. We can reckon on boxcar loads of the critters on fair weather days. And durin' the odd cold snap we have blue tits.
Heehee - "exotic climbs"!
The blue tits figure, Debbickle, don't they.
Sorry t'hear you've got pigmentation probs wif yr pectorals, Deback, ole pal. Or were you referrin' to that wee avian creature which just so happens to be the official state bird of the Commonwealth of Taxachusetts? Hereabouts we call 'em chickadees.
we'd all have blue tits if it were that cold!
But it isn't, is it Margo - so we must make do with the flashing blues of our superb fairy wren, instead...
Lost, dazed and confused...lmao
Lost, dazed and confused ... all excellent qualities.
Very nice birdie, Deb ... it is sorta shaped like a wren, isn't it?
Once upon a time, there was an open shoebox which had sat all winter on the seat our riding mower, out in the garage. Early next spring, a wren crept in, built a nest in the box and deposited six eggs, all of which turned into itty bitty birdlings in due course. Mama Wren wasn't at all bothered by our all the time messing about in the garage while she fed and watered the youngin's. And I was far from bothered with her as a squatter, since it lengthened the time I didn't have to mow the bloomin' lawn.
But all good things come to an end, and eventually the whole herd flew off. I'd figgered the little ones would just go walkabout in the garage once they'd departed the nest, but no, they all flew to the bottom of the garden and -- swish! -- just like that they were gone.
Say la vee, what?
<How goes it, margo? -- still swatting away at the tennis?>
G'day Mr D....
Still swotting, swatting and sweating! (unpleasantly hot and humid these days!)
Thanks for asking
