February is so predictable. After January ended with two days in the 60s and week of above-freezing temperatures, the first day of this thankfully almost over month began with a high of 18 degrees.
We've spent most of the shortest month in the 20s and low 30s. Likewise, my running mileage from January to February dropped like a frozen glob of snot, as we wait out this cruel month inside the Viper family bunker.
Running? Only three miles so far, and that was while traveling to a much warmer locale for work. Instead, more sedentary activities prevail, while Punxsutawney Phil's prediction of an early spring seems more bogus by the day.
The Missus and I spend most of our time at home huddled under our expansive collection of blankets, a dizzying array of afghans and comforters, fleece and wool. Like Mr. Rogers, I often come home and take off my coat, only to pull on a zippered sweatshirt.
We switched cable providers recently. In the deal, we got a free trial of movie channels and have been catching up on movies we never had much interest in seeing in the first place. FYI: Paul? Not terrible. Extract? Quite terrible.
The challenge of learning the fiddle has kept me in the attic some evenings. Good thing heat rises.
Dobson, our 3-year-old Old English Sheepdog, has started to get the hint after my wife has repeatedly forced him to lie on her feet.
February on the North Coast is tough because it's usually when cabin fever sets in, but the weather precludes going out of doors for anything but the essentials.
The forecast for March isn't looking promising. Highs mostly in the low 30s. Somebody get a rattrap ready for Phil.