What a pleasant walk in the snow dusted village: children making snowmen, teenagers smoking and sledding, grown men attacking each other with snow balls. It is warmer than before the snow—very fresh. I get a big kick out of these Brits sitting at outdoor cafes in what we would avoid as nasty weather—no heaters, I might add, but the tables are full. The tables are under canvas awnings, but still! The little dogs have coats and the shovels are available near the grit bins to use if one needs to push snow aside.
After my haircut, the morning snowmen were beginning to have middle age sag. Their necks indistinguishable from the torso, torsos melted into pear shaped bottoms, morphing into blob-like triangular shapes where a few hours ago were the three distinct balls. It still made me happy to see them saluting the ritual of making fun from what could be inconvenience in lower spirited people. It is delightful to be reminded of the wonder that the littlest children evidence; what a lovely jab at our basic nature to be in awe of the world.
How convenient to be able to walk for a Sunday morning haircut. The salon was 50% ex-pats; my French stylist says Hampstead is home to a large colony of American ex-pats who come for a visit and stay for a life. I can see why. I continue to be surprised at how well traveled the Europeans are. I have met no one who has not traveled to the States and most bounce around the continent the way we drive from OC to LA.
And, here peeking through the snow are Spring bulbs with their promises.
My plan for the remainder of the afternoon: make a dent in off some work and finish off this compelling novel. For supper, I have some Italian meatballs to warm up with a little serving of fresh pasta. Salad tonight includes orange slices, walnuts, greens and a citrus ginger dressing.
Enjoy your Super bowl Sunday. Out of allegiance to my college buddy, Sam the “Bam” Cunningham, I hope the Patriots win.
Your pictures are lovely, but where are the snowmen?
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