Back at so-called Real Life. . .

Many thanks to everyone who expressed their condolences.  Your kindness is much appreciated.

Today was about putting away the detritus of Doing Taxes, packing some books to mail, and trying to shovel snow off the roof of the deck, because there’s approximately five hundred and thirty-three tons of snow up there, and while Todd built it to withstand a Maine winter, I’m pretty sure we’re approaching its reasonable load-bearing capacity.

Now, the problem with raking the roof is. . .it’s ‘waaaaaay up there.  Also, I can only rake the side that is directly over the steps.  Mount Snowplow defends it from a frontal approach.  And a large fall of snow in front of the basement door defends it from the back.

Possibly, yes, I could climb over the rail and stand on Mount Snowplow, but I deem that a tad risky.  It may bear my weight.  Or it may bear my weight for a while.  If I break through, there’ll be no getting me out until autumn. If I miss my footing and slide down the wrong side, I’d either have to scale the Mount on its smooth side, or lay down on my belly and swim across the snow like an otter, alllllll the way around the base of the Mount until I came to a place where it’s possible to climb over the berm, to the driveway.

Also, I don’t do ladders.  At all.  Never mind ladders unsteadily braced on snow and ice.

Which leaves standing on the steps, heaving the rake repeatedly up to the roof and dragging buckets of snow down onto my own head.  Yes, yes; it’s a comedy act.

It’s also relatively futile.  I’ve raked off the snow I can reach, but there’s plenty too much up there, and no way for me to disturb it enough so it will start moving, say, down the slope of the roof, and off , adding to the consequence of our temporary mountain.


In other news, Steve is still struggling with the disappearance of, and attempting to make it appear again.  Very sorry for the continued bouncing mail, and other inconveniences.  If you have written to either of us at a address, and have gotten a bounce message, best to send again, to our gmail addresses.

It remains eerily quiet in my office.  I keep glancing over to the corner that Mozart frequented most during the last few months — and it’s empty, of course.  The lack of his presence is almost a presence of itself.

Tomorrow, I am turning off All The Things, and Shutting All of the Doors so I can work.  I’m  starting to get very cranky with regard to not working.  *glares at universe*

And, to make up, at least a little, for the tone of this post, I offer you two coon cats in a box too small for one — and good evening.

Dad and daughter, napping.
Dad and daughter, napping.

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