Well, there's a lot I could write about today:
the composer Bach's birthday, Elvis's first television appearance,
the death of Henry VIII.
But the real story here is that we are once again huddled
at home, waiting for several inches of snow to fall.
Most places are closed even though the first flakes didn't start to fall
until about five o'clock.
And lots of places have already announced they will be closed tomorrow.
We just don't "do" snow very well here.
Nor do we do below-freezing temperatures.
Or bone-chilling wind.
But here we are.
I won't be sorry to see you go.
Don't let the door hit you on your way out.