From Pancakes To Ashes to Chocolates . . . What a Week!

And so, Lent begins.
If you are someone who gives up something you love 
for the six weeks of Lent, and yesterday you
swore off chocolate . . . and today is
Valentine's Day . . . well, hahahahahahaha. 

I hope you got flowers today,

or a pretty card, instead of candy! 

Not real.  Pictures taken at a local dollar store.

I wonder how many people foreswore parsnips or lima beans

or pickled pigs' feet this year, instead of chocolate?

Tuesday past was Fat Tuesday - Mardi Gras - that last day of indulgence before Lent.

Did you eat pancakes?
Toss beads at strangers?

Dollar store!

 Dance in the street?
Lift up your shirt in public? 
 Wear a mask (especially if you did the shirt thing)? 

No?  Neither did I.

So Tuesday -- Indulgence.
Wednesday -- Contemplation.
Today -- A Celebration of Love.

******************************
Of course, our dogs had to get in on the Valentine's glamour.

Gilda, Queen of Hearts.

Dylan, the Court Jester.

How annoyed does this dog look?  Yes.  Pretty annoyed.

 "Seriously, Mom?  Can you leave me a shred of dignity?"

"Get this off-a me.  Now!"

"Oh well.  If I have to wear it, I might as well take a nap."

 
 Everyone at That Old House wishes everyone else (that's you!)
 a sweet Valentine's Day, whether you rejoice in a
Significant Other of the human persuasion, a beloved pet,
a good friend, your family, your memories, your dreams,
people with whom you spend your working hours . . .
it's all love,
in all its myriad forms, and it's all good.  
-- Cass  

Mo' Snow, Fo' Sho'

This is a big snowstorm, but here in northern
New Jersey we're supposed to get just 3 to 6 inches
before it all ends later Saturday morning.

  
I took this through the Sunroom window

at about 1:00 in the morning:

The steps go up to our driveway, and are loads of fun in ice and snow.  Not.

 

I kind of think we've pretty much hit that 6" mark.

But our snow will be nowhere near the deep depths

predicted for parts of New England,

and for eastern Long Island. 

Our beach house may see 2-feet of snow.

Of course here's the question:

If snow falls around an empty house,

and there's no one there to shovel it . . . does it matter?

 The dogs were extra lazy and cuddly today.

Gilda, snuggled up against me.

"Mom has such nice pillows."

Dylan, wishing Gilda hadn't gotten the coveted spot

on Mom's lap; he's wondering if it's worth nudging her off. 

And now, it's time for bed.

Dylan, Gilda, and I are sleepy and have decided 

that the snow can fall without us watching it.

From about 7:00, earlier in the evening,

with just a few inches of snow:

Yes, I stuck my head and camera out the door.
Chairs down!  Chairs down!

To all in the path of this winter storm, and especially
our family and friends in New England and on Long Island,

good luck, be safe,and break out the popcorn and old movies.

- Cass

A Fine Romance

When last we left our cast of seedy characters,
Gilda The Housemaid was spotted
cozying up to the master of the house.

But, sly minx that she is, that was only a smokescreen.

Her real target was not The Colonel.

No, it was the ne'er-do-well, wastrel son of the family, 
Dylan DiPoochy.

I caught them this morning in flagrante delicto.

(Well, actually, in the Study is where I really caught them.
We don't have a Flagrante Delicto at That Old House.)

   You think I haven't noticed what's been happening, you two? 

Ha!  It takes more than smokescreens and red herrings

to fool a canny old woman like me! 

"Don't be mad, Mom!"

While I can't say I am thrilled at this May-December romance,

at least I know there won't be any grandchildren.

As for The Body in the Library,
who was it who lay, lifeless, in that big red bag?

Well, silly me.

It was one of the Indoor Potty Christmas Trees.

 And now there's another one just like it, and they're both

hanging like giant bats from a cellar joist.

 ******************************

 That's enough silly for today.

 But we have to do something to 
jolly up this time of the year!

 New York is one of only two metropolitan areas

in the USA that receives more than 50-percent

of its annual snowfall after Ground Hog Day.  

Well, isn't that special?

Time to hunker down -- Cass 

  

"So, is it my fault he licks himself there?  Men!"