There’s been a lot of snow lately. We’re an inch and a half or so from breaking some sort of record for December snowfall. I’m a competitive sort, but I’d rather not win this one thank you very much. And while we’re told that this snow has come to us from another country — Canada, no surprise there, and Georgian Bay off Lake Huron, to be precise — it’s exoticness has worn thin.
I’ve been procrastinating on a writing assignment. The sermon. As I don’t plan ever to deliver one, I’m not sure it’s at all fair that I have to write one. That right there may be the biggest writer’s block ever. Christmas and all its attendant mayhem isn’t helping either. Solid blocks of time for writing I simply do. not. have. And there’s reading to do too, for the next weekend of classes in early January.
I did manage to read this book: A Long Walk to Water. It’s wonderfully written, geared toward young readers, and I read through it in less than two hours. I’ve met Salva, and support his efforts for Water for Sudan, as do the students and staff at the school for which I coordinate volunteers and tutors. I sent him birthday greetings a week or so ago, and he wrote back telling me how hot it is now where he is, arranging to dig wells in Sudan. I hope he’s enjoying it as much as he can, and more often than not!
Because this is what it looks like here now. Sunshine is rare and savored. Mostly the skies are grey. Unrelentingly grey, and miserably cold. Everything is covered with mounds of snow. Some of it comical. Some of it dreary. All of it cold. And all of it growing old awfully early this winter which doesn’t officially begin until tomorrow…