If you log in to domesticat.net, you'll discover a new-to-you entry. It's got details on how to update the link your RSS feedreader uses so that you'll see all the entries you're entitled to see.
(ObNote for anyone who finds this via a search engine: you want the Simple Access module and the Token Authentication module to make this work.)
I would also like to add this related note: beer drunk in celebration is doubly tasty.
]]>If you log in to domesticat.net, you'll discover a new-to-you entry. It's got details on how to update the link your RSS feedreader uses so that you'll see all the entries you're entitled to see.
(ObNote for anyone who finds this via a search engine: you want the Simple Access module and the Token Authentication module to make this work.)
I would also like to add this related note: beer drunk in celebration is doubly tasty.
]]>Meanwhile, I'm just going to pace around this room. I won't look for him for another half hour, at least. Maybe he'll manage to get this far so we can go home.
]]>Meanwhile, I'm just going to pace around this room. I won't look for him for another half hour, at least. Maybe he'll manage to get this far so we can go home.
]]>I'm trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to stand another day of this. I can't figure out what is more maddening—watching traffic move around the airport, knowing there's no flight for me to take to get out of here, or watching traffic move along I-440. Just because the roads are improving here doesn't mean that the roads are improving way back out in the backwoods, where Jeff and the rest of my family are.
My consolation is that yes, while I'm going stark raving mad here, I would be absolutely losing my mind at my parents' house. Jeff says they don't have power. They're running off of the generator, and my sister and nephew are there. I guess a quiet, sterile hotel room with crappy food is better than a smoky house with a screaming four-year-old.
Neither option is pleasing. I want to go home. Kat says the kitties miss us terribly. I think it's mutual.
]]>Then I realized that I didn't want the coffee to be that hot, so I got a bucket of ice from the ice machine and stuck the coffee cup in the middle of the ice. That was over an hour ago. Once it was cooled, I drank it. And then I remembered why I don't ingest very much caffeine. It has a very strong effect on me.
When I open the drapes, I can see activity at the airport. Dammit. So close and yet so far. I'm scheduled for a Thursday night flight, routing me through Houston. What a crappy frigging route, but there's nothing else available. There's a bit of traffic starting to move on I-440 now. I'm getting really damn sick of looking at these broken trees. I can't decide what's more of a wasteland—the emptiness of the television, the sterility of this hotel room, or the frozen land outside.
I guess I should try to sleep. Catch breakfast downstairs—make sure to eat a lot of it so that maybe I can skip the ordeal of trying to climb to the next hotel up for lunch tomorrow. My left side hurts from where I fell on it.
]]>But strangest and most beautiful are the trees. The young pines will probably snap soon. They have gone from touching their toes to curled up in almost-fetal positions. But there are two older trees, shaped like redbuds, that are the most beautiful of all. Their habit of growing a profusion of slender branches as opposed to a few small branches gives them more acreage to collect ice.
The end result is a tree of spun glass, glowing in the lamplight. It is the ultimate irony of ice storms: the very thing that is so deadly is also incredibly beautiful.
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