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It’s real winter here today as opposed to pretend winter. I shouldn’t complain since, in


My grey porch looking out on a grey skies and a grey street and grey houses in early afternoon

most years I’ve lived here, winter arrived a whole lot earlier than the middle of December. I don’t mind the cold, not really, or even that bit of snow that’s blowing around out there. But what I cannot abide is the grey grey grey skies. I feel like they sink onto my shoulders and push my body down so I’m shuffling around and not feeling very happy at all. I can’t remember if the grey has always affected me this way but it certainly has since moving to Oh Canada. I guess in DC — at least in my memory of those days — there were enough blue-sky-winter days that an occasional grey one didn’t phase me all that much. Memories are amazing things — especially when there’s no one around your life who can contradict your remembering and quote your complaints back to you about how much you grumbled about winter there.

The cats certainly have no sympathy whatsoever for me and my grey dilemma. I guess if it affected their 5 pm feeding they might pretend to care one way or the other. But I doubt it. These cats very seldom show any patience for my whines no matter what they are. At the moment they are particularly tired of my murmurings on the frightfulness of turning 70 in a few weeks. “Get over it,” they imply as they find someplace as far from me as possible to go back to sleep. I don’t blame them. What could they do anyway? Curl up on my lap and purr my years away? Now that would be a shock. Other then when they were very little and hadn’t formed their independent ways, these cats seldom showed their softer sides by curling up on my lap. The only time I remember one of them doing it was when I’d been gone for three weeks recuperating from knee surgery at Margaret’s and came home. I spent a lot of time on the couch so they knew something was up. Rose would stare at me from her perch on the back of the sofa trying to figure out if, perhaps, I was not really who I said I was. Maybe it was the walker and cane and those drugs that did change my personality a bit. Nick was more trusting and would slip in beside me on the couch and purr his way onto my belly to take care of me. Once I stopped spending every day sprawled out watching TV, he stopped doing it.

No, it’s up to me to get over my grey blahs. I should have gone to a movie but that would have meant putting all those layers on again and going out in the snow where I would be worrying about slipping and falling. And, anyway, I might have seen something that made me feel worse than the grey skies. Instead, I decided to make vegetable soup out of all the bits and pieces of veggies that have been dying in my fridge. I ignored the grey skies completely  for as long as I was chopping those veggies and the soup was simmering but then the grey Ughs struck again.

I went in search of the cats to see how they were handling this winter afternoon. Rose was in her usual spot, destroying the back of my couch. She didn’t even budge when I asked img_1351her for advice on what I could do to get over these blahs. She pretended not to hear me and just tucked her head deeper into the afghan. She is not subtle at all.

Nick at least acknowledged that I had come into the room but definitely was not thrilled that I had img_1346interrupted his long winter’s nap.

Their message to me was loud and clear: Sleep Until Someone Gets Around to Feeding You and Then Sleep Some More. Maybe I should publish these Wise Sayings from My Cats but their feline egos might just get too big for this apartment. And, anyway, I don’t like to take naps in the afternoon.

So, instead, I brought me and the laptop upstairs to sit in front of my “day light” with it’s cheery little sun on the front telling me that just by having this light on I will get over my winter-greys blues and be happy. I’m not sure it worked — but at least it helped to get these words written.