There's something about this weather that affects people.
It's like being at the beach on a stormy day, except without the ocean. When I got up, my apartment felt chilly, but when I went down to get the newspaper, I found it was surprisingly warm outside.
Immediately, I threw all the windows open and changed clothes.
Then I was off to the eye doctor in bike shorts. When he walked in the examining room, it was the first thing he commented on. "Taking advantage of the weather today, I see." Sure am. Some of us detest the cold.
After going through part of the exam, he asked how I was doing, aside from "deploring the oncoming season." I've been going to this doctor for years and we know a little about each other, at least as much as you can know when you only see someone once a year.
For instance, I know he's on the board of the VMFA and the Smithsonian and that he's an art collector. He knows I'm a writer and restaurant reviewer, so he asked for a recommendation.
Shifting gears back to my eyes, he asks if I ever got my glasses prescription filled, knowing full well I didn't. I haven't worn glasses since 1979 and I remind him I'm a contact lens person, morning 'till night.
So he starts lecturing me about oxygenating my corneas and giving my eyes a break by not wearing my contacts every waking second like I do. This is something new, a caveat he's never given me before. I ask if I'm getting this warning because of my age.
"You're still hot," he says, surprising me and apparently trying to offer some consolation by sharing his age.
I experience the briefest second wondering if doctors are supposed to tell patients they're hot, but it's a fraction of the time I spend enjoying the compliment.
After asking if there's any point in writing me a glasses prescription, he does, as well as one for contacts, then instructs me to take my lenses out more often and come back in a year. We both know we could have talked much longer, but also that other patients are waiting.
Same time next year, doc.
Back home, I walk into a misty swampland home. Every glass surface, every window, every mirror - especially bad are the two over the fireplaces, which are original to this 1876 house - is fogged over as the warm outside air met the cold fixtures of my formerly closed up apartment. My thick plaster walls and heart pine floors are shiny with moisture. The black and white linoleum in the hallway looks like it was just mopped. It wasn't.
Welcome to Damp Land.
When I leave for my walk in shorts, I spot people in jackets and hats. Either they've based their attire on yesterday's weather or they're sweating bullets under so many layers. I, on the other hand, am perfectly comfortable and, I might add, dressed appropriately for the weather.
There's a small, warehouse-like building I often pass as I'm leaving for my walk and anytime I see the guy inside working, I call out hello. He usually has NPR on and a dog or two lounging nearby, but he'll at least wave as I go by.
I call out on my way by and get as far as the next building when I hear him calling to me.
"I thought you'd moved since I haven't seen you in a while!" he hollers. Well, this is something new. He's come outside to talk to me for the first time in years of walking by him. I explain my recent absence, we introduce ourselves and I ask about what he does and where he does it, fascinated to learn that his building used to be the Markow Florist warehouse.
But where we're not soul mates is when I rave about the weather. "I'm not too excited about going home and having my house be 80 degrees," he says. Why not? I'd be thrilled.
Closer to City Hall, a man walks by, looks at my legs, then my face and exclaims (there's no other word for how it came out of his mouth), "Those shorts!" then gulps and grins like a fool. Yep, those shorts are ideal for a 72-degree day, aren't they, sir?
Funny how 90% humidity loosens some people's tongues. Me, I'm all about the warmth.
Showing posts with label rainy days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rainy days. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Monday, January 12, 2015
But First, Tea
It's a gloomy, damp Monday afternoon and I'm drinking a cup of hot tea and listening to a '90s Irish band.
Perfect, right? Maybe, but it also represents a seismic shift in the earth's force, at least according to those who know me best. You see, I never drank hot tea. And by never, I mean from birth until a few months ago, I couldn't stand the stuff.
Friends and family know my aversion to hot beverages, the occasional hot chocolate aside. While I've always enjoyed a glass of iced tea (no sugar, no lemon) during the summer, I could never get into a hot cuppa tea.
And then the planets realigned and boom, I enjoy a cup of tea almost every night when I get home, either while blogging or reading. Sometimes on a chilly day, in the afternoon, too. On vacation over the holiday, I even had it with breakfast some days.
I can't explain what happened to make me suddenly appreciate tea. But those closest to me registered shock and awe when they heard the news. In one case, I was rewarded for my shift in allegiance with a gift certificate to Carytown Teas, a place I hadn't even known existed until I unwrapped the envelope.
Even a novice tea drinker like me recognized today as a prime tea-drinking day, so I looked up the shop's location and set out to explore the world of tea. It was a tad overwhelming.
Canisters of loose tea sat on shelves with all the accouterments on tables nearby. Since I don't yet have the ability to brew loose tea, the first thing I picked up was a box of tea bags. That much I knew I needed.
Then I laid myself at the skilled feet of the proprietor, sharing that I was new to all this, aware only that so far I'd enjoyed mint and orange teas and had a leaning toward green tea for its antioxidant qualities.
Pro that she was, she immediately set about blending me a tea to suit my blossoming palate. With an eye toward my interest in green tea, she chose Gunpowder Osprey but used a higher percentage of beautifully-scented blood orange/grapefruit tea to keep the caffeine even lower.
Now as I sit here on my second cup, I marvel at how it took me so many decades to appreciate the pleasures of a cup of hot tea.
Just call me a late bloomer about yet another thing. I'm with Monty Python on this one: Make tea, not war. Will do...finally.
Perfect, right? Maybe, but it also represents a seismic shift in the earth's force, at least according to those who know me best. You see, I never drank hot tea. And by never, I mean from birth until a few months ago, I couldn't stand the stuff.
Friends and family know my aversion to hot beverages, the occasional hot chocolate aside. While I've always enjoyed a glass of iced tea (no sugar, no lemon) during the summer, I could never get into a hot cuppa tea.
And then the planets realigned and boom, I enjoy a cup of tea almost every night when I get home, either while blogging or reading. Sometimes on a chilly day, in the afternoon, too. On vacation over the holiday, I even had it with breakfast some days.
I can't explain what happened to make me suddenly appreciate tea. But those closest to me registered shock and awe when they heard the news. In one case, I was rewarded for my shift in allegiance with a gift certificate to Carytown Teas, a place I hadn't even known existed until I unwrapped the envelope.
Even a novice tea drinker like me recognized today as a prime tea-drinking day, so I looked up the shop's location and set out to explore the world of tea. It was a tad overwhelming.
Canisters of loose tea sat on shelves with all the accouterments on tables nearby. Since I don't yet have the ability to brew loose tea, the first thing I picked up was a box of tea bags. That much I knew I needed.
Then I laid myself at the skilled feet of the proprietor, sharing that I was new to all this, aware only that so far I'd enjoyed mint and orange teas and had a leaning toward green tea for its antioxidant qualities.
Pro that she was, she immediately set about blending me a tea to suit my blossoming palate. With an eye toward my interest in green tea, she chose Gunpowder Osprey but used a higher percentage of beautifully-scented blood orange/grapefruit tea to keep the caffeine even lower.
Now as I sit here on my second cup, I marvel at how it took me so many decades to appreciate the pleasures of a cup of hot tea.
Just call me a late bloomer about yet another thing. I'm with Monty Python on this one: Make tea, not war. Will do...finally.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Sticky Fingers and Full Up
I have a friend who has given up smoking and drinking and is currently trying to lose 20 pounds.
Naturally when we made lunch plans, I played bad influence, suggesting Sweet Teas southern cuisine because no one needs to give up all their vices.
This is a friend as devoted to southern food as I am, a guy who spent the drive over reminiscing about Johnson's Soul Food, a place that kept the Bottom in biscuits and fried chicken for years.
He was skeptical right up until we walked into Sweet Tea's and he saw the cake stands on the counter, the table of firemen and smelled the fried chicken cooking.
Since it was my fourth time there, I took the lead, telling our cheerful server we wanted to begin with an order of their hand-battered onion rings.
My friend was having a hard time choosing an entree and told our server he wanted to taste the rings before making up his mind.
In the meantime, he trolled the counter to check out the dessert offerings, returning to advise, "We're going to need a slice of that chocolate cake."
Something to look forward to.
With a window-side table view of the drizzle and people with umbrellas scurrying by, we dove into the bowl of crispy onion rings, his dipped in housemade horseradish remoulade while I went classic with ketchup.
When our server came over to check on us, I forced his hand by ordering chicken and waffles so he'd have to make up his mind.
Instead, he just parroted what I'd said, clarifying that we each wanted our own.
In the time it took for our chicken to be fried, he told me about some of the lunch spots he'd taken some fellow lawyers to, the kind of places that made suburban men uncomfortable and the kind of places with food too good to pass up because of dated prejudices.
Our Belgian waffles arrived with two enormous chicken wings on each and my friend looked at me, questioning whether these were chicken or turkey wings, which were also on the menu.
Smart ass.
After applying massive amounts of butter to each dimple of my waffle, I bathed it in a sea of syrup and began eating my chicken with my fingers.
No amount of napkins is sufficient with this meal.
I looked over at Friend, who was grinning ear to ear and already had a trail of chicken skin crumbles down the front of his shirt.
As it turned out, I finished all of my chicken and 3/4 of my waffle while he finished neither.
You'd think I'd feel some feminine shame about out-eating a man who outweighs me by 60+ pounds, but not so much.
The bad news for both of us was, though, there was absolutely no room for that chocolate cake we had promised ourselves.
He was already considering taking the rest of the afternoon off to "get stuff done," which I took as code for "take a nap on a gray day," since he'd already mentioned how difficult he'd found it to get out of bed on rainy days like this.
Can't relate. I'd bounded out of bed this morning when I awoke to the sound of rain, eager to get out and take a walk in it.
I'd wound up walking all the way to Mongrel in Carytown, enjoying the precipitation every step of the way.
Saying goodbye when he dropped me off, he preemptively said, "To answer your question, I'm not going back to the office."
Pshaw. No more surprised about that than that you ate yourself silly at Sweet Teas.
The way I see it, a friend's gotta have at least one vice or they're not worth hanging out with.
Come to the dark side...we have fryers.
Naturally when we made lunch plans, I played bad influence, suggesting Sweet Teas southern cuisine because no one needs to give up all their vices.
This is a friend as devoted to southern food as I am, a guy who spent the drive over reminiscing about Johnson's Soul Food, a place that kept the Bottom in biscuits and fried chicken for years.
He was skeptical right up until we walked into Sweet Tea's and he saw the cake stands on the counter, the table of firemen and smelled the fried chicken cooking.
Since it was my fourth time there, I took the lead, telling our cheerful server we wanted to begin with an order of their hand-battered onion rings.
My friend was having a hard time choosing an entree and told our server he wanted to taste the rings before making up his mind.
In the meantime, he trolled the counter to check out the dessert offerings, returning to advise, "We're going to need a slice of that chocolate cake."
Something to look forward to.
With a window-side table view of the drizzle and people with umbrellas scurrying by, we dove into the bowl of crispy onion rings, his dipped in housemade horseradish remoulade while I went classic with ketchup.
When our server came over to check on us, I forced his hand by ordering chicken and waffles so he'd have to make up his mind.
Instead, he just parroted what I'd said, clarifying that we each wanted our own.
In the time it took for our chicken to be fried, he told me about some of the lunch spots he'd taken some fellow lawyers to, the kind of places that made suburban men uncomfortable and the kind of places with food too good to pass up because of dated prejudices.
Our Belgian waffles arrived with two enormous chicken wings on each and my friend looked at me, questioning whether these were chicken or turkey wings, which were also on the menu.
Smart ass.
After applying massive amounts of butter to each dimple of my waffle, I bathed it in a sea of syrup and began eating my chicken with my fingers.
No amount of napkins is sufficient with this meal.
I looked over at Friend, who was grinning ear to ear and already had a trail of chicken skin crumbles down the front of his shirt.
As it turned out, I finished all of my chicken and 3/4 of my waffle while he finished neither.
You'd think I'd feel some feminine shame about out-eating a man who outweighs me by 60+ pounds, but not so much.
The bad news for both of us was, though, there was absolutely no room for that chocolate cake we had promised ourselves.
He was already considering taking the rest of the afternoon off to "get stuff done," which I took as code for "take a nap on a gray day," since he'd already mentioned how difficult he'd found it to get out of bed on rainy days like this.
Can't relate. I'd bounded out of bed this morning when I awoke to the sound of rain, eager to get out and take a walk in it.
I'd wound up walking all the way to Mongrel in Carytown, enjoying the precipitation every step of the way.
Saying goodbye when he dropped me off, he preemptively said, "To answer your question, I'm not going back to the office."
Pshaw. No more surprised about that than that you ate yourself silly at Sweet Teas.
The way I see it, a friend's gotta have at least one vice or they're not worth hanging out with.
Come to the dark side...we have fryers.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Have You Ever Seen the Rain?
When I wake up to a rainy, gray August Sunday, I feel like it's a gift.
So when I set out on my walk, it's under a large flowered umbrella and with a different goal in mind.
Instead of my usual three miles, I want to walk four today.
Partly that's because I so enjoy walking in the rain (especially on a 70 degree day) but also because a longer walk will deposit me at Dixie Donuts.
I walk in behind a family of six (!) who look like they've just come from church.
While the three youngest kids shout their choices, the teen-aged son hangs back, clearly mortified to be part of all this.
"I want a snowcap!" one yells about the doughnut adorned with the white-dotted candy.
"I want the French toast one," another shouts.
"Can I have two chocolate toffees?" asks a third before the high-maintenance looking mother finally takes control and helps expedite the ordering process.
I feel the counter girl's pain.
When the family clears out, I order a basic chocolate doughnut, the last one of its kind on the tray.
Apparently I am not the only one with simple taste when it comes to doughnuts.
To me, candy on top is superfluous when you have a well made cake doughnut.
I compliment the cashier on how adorable she and the counter girl look with matching pink bandannas tied around their heads.
Walking back toward Jackson Ward munching my doughnut as it lightly rains all around me makes the extra mile feel effortless.
Or maybe that was just the sugar buzz kicking in.
So when I set out on my walk, it's under a large flowered umbrella and with a different goal in mind.
Instead of my usual three miles, I want to walk four today.
Partly that's because I so enjoy walking in the rain (especially on a 70 degree day) but also because a longer walk will deposit me at Dixie Donuts.
I walk in behind a family of six (!) who look like they've just come from church.
While the three youngest kids shout their choices, the teen-aged son hangs back, clearly mortified to be part of all this.
"I want a snowcap!" one yells about the doughnut adorned with the white-dotted candy.
"I want the French toast one," another shouts.
"Can I have two chocolate toffees?" asks a third before the high-maintenance looking mother finally takes control and helps expedite the ordering process.
I feel the counter girl's pain.
When the family clears out, I order a basic chocolate doughnut, the last one of its kind on the tray.
Apparently I am not the only one with simple taste when it comes to doughnuts.
To me, candy on top is superfluous when you have a well made cake doughnut.
I compliment the cashier on how adorable she and the counter girl look with matching pink bandannas tied around their heads.
Walking back toward Jackson Ward munching my doughnut as it lightly rains all around me makes the extra mile feel effortless.
Or maybe that was just the sugar buzz kicking in.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I'll Take It All
I walked outside a while ago to get some mix tapes out of my basement (it's not an ideal set-up, but I do love having a full basement) and was hit full in the face with a blast of a warm air like I had not expected.
It was 56 degrees when I walked back from Carytown around 4 and it was 63 when I went to retrieve my vintage music gems this evening.
Since there are not many late January evenings that feel this wonderful, I couldn't resist interrupting my e-mail volleying with a fellow music and language lover and taking the beagle for a long walk through the Ward.
I wasn't the least bit surprised to discover other weather-appreciative neighbors parked on their porches, taking in this wet and warm winter weather.
One was smoking a cigar, another few were ending their weekend with some Sunday beer and still others had their front windows open to allow the music inside to be heard on their porch.
Toward the end of our stroll, it started raining lightly, but in that atmospheric rather than cold, unpleasant way and neither of us minded a bit.
I took a hint from the neighbors and immediately opened my bedroom windows a bit when we returned so that I can smell the January warmth and maybe even hear the rain on the porch roof once I go to bed.
The low tonight is only supposed to be 57!
An unexpected treat like this is to be appreciated and I'm happy to do so.
Maybe things are looking up all around.
It was 56 degrees when I walked back from Carytown around 4 and it was 63 when I went to retrieve my vintage music gems this evening.
Since there are not many late January evenings that feel this wonderful, I couldn't resist interrupting my e-mail volleying with a fellow music and language lover and taking the beagle for a long walk through the Ward.
I wasn't the least bit surprised to discover other weather-appreciative neighbors parked on their porches, taking in this wet and warm winter weather.
One was smoking a cigar, another few were ending their weekend with some Sunday beer and still others had their front windows open to allow the music inside to be heard on their porch.
Toward the end of our stroll, it started raining lightly, but in that atmospheric rather than cold, unpleasant way and neither of us minded a bit.
I took a hint from the neighbors and immediately opened my bedroom windows a bit when we returned so that I can smell the January warmth and maybe even hear the rain on the porch roof once I go to bed.
The low tonight is only supposed to be 57!
An unexpected treat like this is to be appreciated and I'm happy to do so.
Maybe things are looking up all around.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Cozy Can-Can Conversation
I'm not exactly sure when all this rain began. I know it wasn't raining when I left for Gallery 5 around 10:15 last night but the first thing I noticed upon leaving the show around 1:15 was the sound of pelting rain/ice balls hitting the sidewalk and porches as I walked home, so I'm guessing somewhere in the midnight range. Today's continuing wetness might have kept some people in, but I wasn't one of them.
I had plans to meet an old Floyd Avenue neighbor at Can-Can this afternoon, where today's downpour hadn't stopped flocks of people from heading to Carytown. The restaurant was doing a bustling business when I arrived mid-afternoon, making for a cozy atmosphere to escape the rain and enjoy some conversation and a beverage.
I couldn't resist ordering a hot chocolate, not because I'd had it there before, but because a French brasserie ought to make a good one. The bartender's first question (small or large?) was a good indication of things to come. Why get a small amount of chocolate when you can get a large? The plus-sized coffee cup arrived looking like a dessert from the chocolate gods.
Made from chocolate ganache (dark chocolate and heavy cream) and covered in whipped cream, this cup of heaven may as well have been a dessert. Thick and creamy, decadently rich and chocolaty, it was the best rainy day drink I could have imagined, much less ordered. And with such a large serving, I was able to savor it for a good long while. By the time I got near the end of the cup, the chocolate concentration was so heavy as to be syrup-like. Oh my.
My former neighbor is about as big an rva booster as I am, and I thoroughly enjoyed our chat about all the great stuff that goes on in this town. We compared notes about shows we'd both seen at the National as well as some of our dorkier, but no less interesting, outings. And, of course, he updated me on my former 'hood, where he still lives.
I don't think I've had a cup of hot chocolate in a decade and I now realize what an oversight on my part that was. As we head into the colder months, I may have to introduce a friend or two to my latest liquid find. Should they find it a bit rich for their taste, I could probably finish it off for them without any problem.
I had plans to meet an old Floyd Avenue neighbor at Can-Can this afternoon, where today's downpour hadn't stopped flocks of people from heading to Carytown. The restaurant was doing a bustling business when I arrived mid-afternoon, making for a cozy atmosphere to escape the rain and enjoy some conversation and a beverage.
I couldn't resist ordering a hot chocolate, not because I'd had it there before, but because a French brasserie ought to make a good one. The bartender's first question (small or large?) was a good indication of things to come. Why get a small amount of chocolate when you can get a large? The plus-sized coffee cup arrived looking like a dessert from the chocolate gods.
Made from chocolate ganache (dark chocolate and heavy cream) and covered in whipped cream, this cup of heaven may as well have been a dessert. Thick and creamy, decadently rich and chocolaty, it was the best rainy day drink I could have imagined, much less ordered. And with such a large serving, I was able to savor it for a good long while. By the time I got near the end of the cup, the chocolate concentration was so heavy as to be syrup-like. Oh my.
My former neighbor is about as big an rva booster as I am, and I thoroughly enjoyed our chat about all the great stuff that goes on in this town. We compared notes about shows we'd both seen at the National as well as some of our dorkier, but no less interesting, outings. And, of course, he updated me on my former 'hood, where he still lives.
I don't think I've had a cup of hot chocolate in a decade and I now realize what an oversight on my part that was. As we head into the colder months, I may have to introduce a friend or two to my latest liquid find. Should they find it a bit rich for their taste, I could probably finish it off for them without any problem.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
SWF ISO Rain Fan
While blogging last night, a friend messaged me to say that this weather had made him think of me. He remembered that I like rainy weather and with it pelting down outside, he said I was the first thing that came to mind. I don't even remember telling him that, but he was right. I tried to convince him that it's comforting to go to sleep hearing rain on the roof or street outside.
Unlike practically everyone, I don't hate the rain; in fact, I like rainy days, even when we have several in a row. It does make walking the dog and doing my daily four miles more challenging, but I'd have that dilemma if I lived in London or Scotland, now wouldn't I? I've got my hot pink rain jacket, my warm lined boots and three sizes of umbrella to suit the downpour. My biggest problem on days like this is flooded streets; I'm not very tall and sometimes my legs just aren't long enough to span the bigger puddles.
I've only known one other person who enjoys rainy days as much as I do, but he lives in Williamsburg, so it's not always convenient to meet up on rainy days. Which is not to say that we haven't in the past; we've walked in it, taken drives in it and chosen restaurants with front window seats to admire it as we ate. But it's been at least a couple of years since we've enjoyed those pleasures together.
I'd enjoy having another rain-loving friend, but I've got no idea how to find one. Standing on a corner under my umbrella trying to solicit one just seems wrong. I'll just keep an eye peeled during my rainy outings for someone else smiling and wet besides me.
Unlike practically everyone, I don't hate the rain; in fact, I like rainy days, even when we have several in a row. It does make walking the dog and doing my daily four miles more challenging, but I'd have that dilemma if I lived in London or Scotland, now wouldn't I? I've got my hot pink rain jacket, my warm lined boots and three sizes of umbrella to suit the downpour. My biggest problem on days like this is flooded streets; I'm not very tall and sometimes my legs just aren't long enough to span the bigger puddles.
I've only known one other person who enjoys rainy days as much as I do, but he lives in Williamsburg, so it's not always convenient to meet up on rainy days. Which is not to say that we haven't in the past; we've walked in it, taken drives in it and chosen restaurants with front window seats to admire it as we ate. But it's been at least a couple of years since we've enjoyed those pleasures together.
I'd enjoy having another rain-loving friend, but I've got no idea how to find one. Standing on a corner under my umbrella trying to solicit one just seems wrong. I'll just keep an eye peeled during my rainy outings for someone else smiling and wet besides me.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Rainy Day Roundup
Whenever rva has more than one gray day in a row, everyone starts talking about what days like these are good for: watching movies, staying in bed, reading, cuddling, cooking have all been mentioned this week. Frankly, I like rainy days, always have. They don't much change my plans; I still do my four-mile walk, only with an umbrella and carry on with the business of life, albeit with extra layers for warmth.
Today I checked out the new Books, Bikes and Beyond Thrift store run by Ward and Shelley from Books on Wheels. I'd seen Ward last night at Fresh Ink and he'd reminded me to go by and see what they had to offer. I'm the anti-mall person who buys all her clothes (except undies) at thrift stores, so I was all about a new place and went over there to see what was what. Score! Snagged a beautiful Ann Taylor velvet camisole with wide lace trim on it for only two bucks; now I have something fetching and new (to me) to wear to the show tonight.
Walking the beagle the other night, we both spied a snow white bunny in the alley behind my house; I had to rein in the dog. It has to be someone's pet; we just don't have wild rabbits in J-Ward. I forgot all about it until we were walking the other side of the block today and there the poor thing was in someone's front yard, wet and shivering. I'm not quite sure who let this bunny out, so I guess I need to knock on a few doors and get the word out so he can be returned to the cozy confines of his home.
A friend introduced me to the singer Meghan Coffee today and if you're a fan of a certain kind of female voice, I'd suggest checking her out. She's in hibernation at the moment, so new music isn't immediately forthcoming, but there are a couple of CDs to tide a listener over until she's back to playing small rooms and, my favorite, house shows. I think she needs to come to Richmond and play my house.
What's not to like about a good rainy day?
Today I checked out the new Books, Bikes and Beyond Thrift store run by Ward and Shelley from Books on Wheels. I'd seen Ward last night at Fresh Ink and he'd reminded me to go by and see what they had to offer. I'm the anti-mall person who buys all her clothes (except undies) at thrift stores, so I was all about a new place and went over there to see what was what. Score! Snagged a beautiful Ann Taylor velvet camisole with wide lace trim on it for only two bucks; now I have something fetching and new (to me) to wear to the show tonight.
Walking the beagle the other night, we both spied a snow white bunny in the alley behind my house; I had to rein in the dog. It has to be someone's pet; we just don't have wild rabbits in J-Ward. I forgot all about it until we were walking the other side of the block today and there the poor thing was in someone's front yard, wet and shivering. I'm not quite sure who let this bunny out, so I guess I need to knock on a few doors and get the word out so he can be returned to the cozy confines of his home.
A friend introduced me to the singer Meghan Coffee today and if you're a fan of a certain kind of female voice, I'd suggest checking her out. She's in hibernation at the moment, so new music isn't immediately forthcoming, but there are a couple of CDs to tide a listener over until she's back to playing small rooms and, my favorite, house shows. I think she needs to come to Richmond and play my house.
What's not to like about a good rainy day?
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