Yesterday, Stratford got a southern version of the weather system that dumped four inches of snow on Dorothy; it rained and grizzled all day, with a snell wind blowing the whole time and the still air temperature hovering just above freezing. My barometric ankles hurt like the dickens when I got up and never improved until quite late in the afternoon. Most unpleasant.

I made a large apple pie and a batch of brown rice pilaf with mushrooms for our little dinner party, so, with that and the remains of the cassoulet, we now have a fridge full of delicious ready-use food.

Like Maggie, I'm pleased to read that Dorothy is seeing progress toward selling the house. Nothing concentrates the mind of a pack-rat like the reality of having to move excess stuff -- or pay a moving crew to do it, in cold, hard cash.