I woke early this morning and couldn't fall back to sleep so I finally got out of bed around 4:30. The temperature outside was 10 degrees, but by 7:45 when I headed out to CHO, it had slipped to 8. Yowza! I had lots of warm clothes on and didn't feel too uncomfortable except for my hands, which, despite a good pair of gloves, quickly became painfully cold. After giving furniture away for an hour, we tried to head out to make some pickups, but the truck balked. Guys who know about such things said that maybe the diesel fuel was the problem. It can turn jelly-like in the cold, they say. Sounds fishy to me, but what do I know? Anyhow, we weren't able to make our pickups and it fell to me to call the donors and explain that they'd have to hold onto their furniture for another week or so.
Not long after getting home, I developed pretty obvious symptoms of a cold. (Not, I hasten to add, because of my outdoor activity this morning; I had sensed the cold's onset last evening.) So I won't be going to mass tomorrow unless I have a stunning recovery overnight, and that means I probably won't get to see Cassie and Abby tomorrow. This is not good.
Dad died 32 years ago today. Since I'm 64, that's literally half a lifetime ago.
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