Ice-Ice-Baby ...

Well, our snowstorm turned into a freezing rain storm, and it looks like everything has been dipped in glass. When Hubby went to shovel the front steps, he found a thick layer of ice covering wet snow covering slush. A pretty little mess indeed.

Knowing full well that I wouldn't go outside unless I had to, I asked him to start my car for me on his way to work. (Given the option of going out or running out of gas, I'll choose going out -- usually.) Hubby also drove Betsy out of the pile of slush and ice she was sitting in and put her in the nearest clear patch. No wonder I love Hubby. (Although I have him convinced it's because of the free 24/7 computer tech support. Sssh!)

So I went outside, and after chipping a great deal of ice off Betsy, headed uptown. Unlike most cities, Saint John doesn't really have a downtown, per se. Well, it does, but we call it uptown. I'm sure it has something to do with our hills, but I don't really know for sure.

The day is unbelievably grey. I had to take a picture of these buoys at the Coast Guard base because it was the only thing standing out in an otherwise grey world. I think it's still raining. Hopefully the city plows will have cleaned up my street by the time I get home. That was my plan, anyway.

So I am now firmly ensconced in a study carrel at the Saint John Regional Library in Market Square, using their somewhat flaky wireless and looking out the window at the buoys. Betsy is downstairs in the underground heated parking, thawing out.

I've brought some work and other books with me, and I'll just stay here until I think enough time has passed.

Isn't it funny how I always seem to seek sanctuary among books?

The Winter Sea is very enjoyable. I'm up to Chapter Seven, and it's reminding me of why I like Susanna Kearsley's work so much. She's so seamless, weaving two stories together, and with so much detail that you really feel as if you've been there yourself, but somehow without reading like an essay. I still remember my reaction when I finished my first Kearsley book, Mariana: "I want to be able to write like this ..." And I still do.

Looking at our own winter sea out there, though, I can't help but shiver. The damp cold sinks right into your bones. When I go home, I'll probably go straight to the warm bed!

Wonder if my library card has expired?