Our winter is, perhaps, winding towards its close. Though heaven knows, we have had some pretty rough Marches in the past. All we have to do is navigate potential spring floods. My guest beds remain un-made. Should I make them with flannel—and have to rip the sheets off and re-make the beds with percale if my first bunch of spring guests arrive on a hot spring day? Or should I make the beds with percale? Then I have to search out blankets already smelling of mothballs to keep them warm? Problems, problems, problems.
This will be with us before long. And worse. I'm just showing this to people who say they like to live in the Mid-west because of "the seasons." Then the question is bandied around, "Which do you prefer, the winter or the summer?"
I know the answer to that one—whichever we are not suffering from at the time.
This element in my blog needs to be constantly up-dated. When I began it, I thought I had things to say. I thought I had a valid way of saying them. Now I am not so sure. I do know I have information to pass on to my twenty two grandchildren and the days of photo albums are over. So my five children and their children can find some of their heritage here. And some of my observations.