Yesterday our furnace died. Maybe the blizzard was just too much to keep up with, but it was only 14 years old. It should’ve had a few more years left. Note to everyone: never buy a Maytag furnace. We had several other problems with it before its untimely death.
Fortunately, my husband got right on it and we’re having a new one installed this morning. (K’Ching$$$) In the meantime, it’s cold in here! I’m thinking it’s about 45 degrees Fahrenheit, but I have my coffee and my Comfy, I’ll be fine.
Last night we lit a fire in our fireplace and I made s’mores and then put them on top of ice cream for mixing in. It took some effort to crush the s’more and fully mix it with the ice cream, but I did it. It was good. Not as good as the best mix-in I ever invented, but yummy.
The chocolate didn’t melt as much as I would’ve like, but I managed.
Here are some of my post-blizzard pics from Tuesday.
This is the snowbank at the TOP of my driveway—right next to the house. I’m 5’ 8.5” so that’s a lot of snow. The plow guy has no other place else to pile it all up. There’s a flower garden under there, which I’m worried about. Note: I had to balance my phone on a trashcan with my mitten and use “timer” to take this photo. That’s real skill.My aptly named street Neighborhood snowbankI can’t tell if this mailbox is still attached to its post. Sometimes the plows knock off mailboxes and people just shove them into the snowbanks until they can be repaired. People then try to make the town do the repairs, but I know from experience, it’s easier to do it yourself.
In all, we got about 12-14 inches of new snow, but Rhode Island really got slammed. They beat their Blizzard of ‘78 record, with 35” inches in Providence (38” at the airport).
Blizzard is over! And the power stayed on!! Two things to be grateful for.
However, there’s still the matter of the driveway. We have a long, skinny, mini-hill of a driveway that is not passable until plowed or snowblowed. And shoveling anything more than a couple of inches off of it requires a level of fitness that I do not possess.
The plow guy came once yesterday but I’ve just learned that his plow broke, so I am trapped up here. My husband managed to get his car out this morning, but will never be able to get back up the driveway unless it gets plowed again.
This is an ongoing situation with this house that I had all but forgotten about, because we haven’t had this much snow in years.
So, I’m up here alone in my snowbound fortress, waiting for some man to save me. Either the plow guy (young and cute) or my husband (strong but bad knees) will have to rescue me. This situation always reminds me of Rapunzel.
If my hair was long enough, I could braid it into a rope and throw it down the driveway to my potential rescuer.
This round tower in Ireland also reminded me of Rapunzel
I know, I know. A real feminist would’ve learned to use a snowblower years ago and get herself out. Blame that one on my father. “Girls don’t blow snow.”
This is the first winter in forever that I’m not going to Florida for at least a week. I’m staying here in the cold with my husband—and his new knee—for the entire winter. And it sure is a cold and snowy one. We have a huge snow bank in our driveway and major icicles hanging off our roof. I’m worried about ice dams causing leaking into the house (so far, so good).
There’s a garden under that huge pile of snow. The plow guy has no other place to put the snow. I hope at least some of the plants survive.
On the bright side: I get to see my granddaughter today 😁 Also, the Patriots are in the Super Bowl, which is a big plus if you’re married to a huge Pats fan. The Super Bowl is on his birthday too. Also, my church is hosting an Emma’s Revolution concert Friday to benefit a local immigrant and refugee justice organization. It’s going to be fun.
Yesterday, I watched some of the congressional testimony from people whose lives have been ruined by ICE, including Renee Good’s two heartbroken brothers. Not a single Republican congressperson attended the hearing. I watched Aliyah Rachman—a woman with a traumatic brain injury—testify to the most horrific capture and treatment by ICE that you could possibly imagine. The conditions in the detention centers are subhuman, with living human beings referred to as “bodies.” Watch her testimony here.
My husband has signed on to get his other knee replaced in mid-March, so that’s going to….in a word…suck.
But back to the bright side: we moved an old treadmill from the unfinished side of the basement to the “nice” side of the basement and it still works fine. So I can “take a walk” even when the weather prevents me from going outside. I’m currently rewatching the entire originalSex and the City series while I’m treadmilling. I’m on Season 3.
I’m getting closer to the end of my watercolor botanicals workbook and I decided I’d like to keep learning in a class with a teacher. Last night I found a class at a different community arts center (even closer to my house than where I took my first watercolors class last fall). There was just one opening left, so I registered. I had hesitated to register earlier, because the class focuses on learning to paint one particular subject, which sounded kind of silly. But last night as I watched All Creatures Great and Small on PBS, I decided that painting “soft, cute and fluffy baby farm animals” might be just what I need in the Winter of 2026.
Peony and wildflowers from my Watercolors Workbook
It’s a winter wonderland here in Massachusetts. No sign of the plow guy yet this morning, but the Patriots are going to the Super Bowl – again. Therefore many New Englanders (husband, son…) are in a much better mood than they otherwise would have been. Go Pats!
And some good news: our whiny-ass, murdering, rapist, senile, spray-tanned orange President has announced he’s not going to attend the Super Bowl because he doesn’t like the halftime performer. He’s probably afraid all those Boston and Seattle fans would boo him into oblivion. In any case, Long Live Bad Bunny!
I’m continuing to work my way through “Watercolor Workbook” by Sarah Simon. If interested, she’s on Instagram: @themintgardener. All designs are hers.
Buttercup Wreath I like how the “wet in wet” worked out in the lower yellow flower (upper flower was too dry when I added the darker color). I also like the berries. Author suggested droplets of paint rather than brush strokes.Fiddle Leaf Fig
Unfortunately my paint set doesn’t have one important color for botanicals: Oxide of Chromium. I’m having to make do with Sap and Veridian.
Wildflower Swag This is painted in the so-called “undefined boundaries” style. It’s fun to somewhat ignore boundaries and let the paint and water do what it will.
In case you haven’t heard, a major winter storm is coming—the likes of which we haven’t seen around here since 2022.
It’s currently 1 degree Fahrenheit and the grocery stores will be packed today with everyone trying to stock up before the snow starts tomorrow around noon. (At this point, I’m still planning to go to church tomorrow morning.) People in non-snow climates: the idea of being stuck inside with your loved ones for 24-48 hours tends to make people buy eggs, milk, bread and firewood like they’re going out of style.
A shared memory for GenXers from Massachusetts is the Bizzard of ‘78, when they cancelled school for like a whole week. It was awesome. People remember jumping off their roofs into huge snowbanks, bumper skiing (when you hold onto your friend’s bumper and they pull you down the snow covered street), and building giant holes and igloos which could’ve collapsed and suffocated their occupants at any moment. There were surprisingly few snow accidents, although one friend’s brother was very seriously injured by a plow that didn’t see him playing in a snow bank. Stay OUT OF THE WAY of the plows, people!
My doll and me tasting the snow in February 1969
The famous Blizzard of 1978 brought us like 4 feet of snow and no school for days on end.
In 1978, 7th graders were far too cool for snow pants, so we just wore jeans to play in the snow.
My son on a huge snowbank in APRIL 2005 – the “April Fools Day” storm
My kids shoveling out a car after Winter Storm Nemo (aka the Blizzard of 2013)
And the stairs
My son “swimming” in the snow in January 2015. He was determined to make it out to his basketball hoop after Hurricane Juno.
Waiting for the plow guy to come and do our driveway, I’m trying not to be too antsy. Normally my husband snowblows the driveway, but not this year—the year of the knee. I cannot and will not operate a snowblower. I’m not that much of a feminist.
The word of this winter will have to be patience. That’s the only way we’re gonna get through it.
The healing process for my husband’s knee replacement is ongoing. Sadly, we had to cancel dinner with our son for his 25th birthday tonight, because my husband just isn’t ready for restaurants yet. There’s still a ton of pain, swelling, and stiffness, which apparently is normal at this stage (3 weeks post-op), but he’s never dealt with anything like this, so it’s pretty hard.
I decided to try a recipe I saw on NYT Cooking “most popular recipes of 2025” list—Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken. It looked easy and it was. My husband loved it. He said the flavor was great and it really was. I even made my own croutons, which soaked up the delicious sauce perfectly.
New England is experiencing real “depths of winter” cold right now. (It’s giving late January vibes.) Given the very cold weather and the knee, I think this was a success. And so easy.
Next time I’ll put the croutons in the dish first to absorb as much sauce as possible 😋
165 Congress Street in Portland is a John Calvin Stevens building. Stevens (1855-1940) was Portland’s most prolific architect. He was known for Shingle-style and Colonial Revival designs.
My son and I took a trip to Portland in July 2021, when he was a 20-year old college student. We rented an AirBnB in the historic Munjoy Hill neighborhood of Portland (which is where these cool indigo doors are located). We had a nice time walking around, eating, and shopping. We also went to the outlets in Freeport, Maine and got a bunch of clothes.
A lot of mothers say that it’s hard to stay close to adult sons once they get busy with their own families and careers. I hope that doesn’t happen to us. My son turns 25 next week. My baby. We’ve got a shopping trip planned for next Friday.
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