Tomorrow's daytime temperature here will be 35 below! Needless to say, we won't be going out anywhere.
This is pretty outstanding:Your periodic reminder that less ice at the Arctic is consistent with a weaker jet stream that allows cold air to drift down into the Great Plains.
— Dr. Steve Campbell (@Historian_Steve) January 12, 2024
The frigid temps you're experiencing happen BECAUSE of a warming planet, not in spite of it. pic.twitter.com/F9oPo88PnJ
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I love to post this scene when it’s cold out. It’s from Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows, with art by Inga Moore. I hope you’re all cozy & warm tonight. Have a lovely weekend & I’ll see you on Sunday. Sweet dreams, everyone ♥️🕯️ pic.twitter.com/z1yEvt1z06
— Emily Jane Rothwell 🖤🌸🖋 (@emjanerothwell) January 12, 2024
...When the door had closed on the last of them and the chink of the lanterns had died away, Mole and Rat kicked the fire up, drew their chairs in, brewed themselves a last nightcap of mulled ale, and discussed the events of the long day. At last the Rat, with a tremendous yawn, said, "Mole, old chap, I'm ready to drop. Sleepy is simply not the word. That your own bunk over on that side? Very well, then, I'll take this. What a ripping little house this is! Everything so handy!"He clambered into his bunk and rolled himself well up in the blankets, and slumber gathered him forthwith, as a swathe of barley is folded into the arms of the reaping machine.The weary Mole also was glad to turn in without delay, and soon had his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment. But ere he closed his eyes he let them wander round his old room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back, without rancour. He was now in just the frame of mind that the tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about in him. He saw clearly how plain and simple—how narrow, even—it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.
1 comment:
You can also hear the mournful cry of the Cu-cu-cu bird from the overflowing ERs which has nothing to do with cu-cu-cu-covid.
Stay warm, Cathie!
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