rain, rain

I wonder, if Greg Fishel is so crazy about snow, why he doesn't move to a market where it snows a lot. Like Denver. Or Buffalo. Perhaps it wouldn't be exciting if snow were commonplace. Actually, I know that is true. I grew up in Connecticut, where snow is a pretty routine wintertime thing. My parents are here visiting from there right now, helping us move, and they were openly laughing at the local TV news last night, because the weatherman was breathless with excitement about the possibility of "up to an inch" of snow.
Instead, it rained and rained. A small lake formed in our back yard, which it always does in heavy rain. Unfortunately, this was the day for the inspector to come to make sure there were no major problems with the house that could kill our sale. On the bright side, now the buyer can be confident that the roof doesn't leak.
I wonder how I will readapt to cold weather. I really disliked it as a child in rural Connecticut, until I took up cross-country skiing as a teenager, and then I learned to love winter. That is something I still miss. It's so perfectly still and silent in the snowy winter woods, so beautiful! It's cold out, but the exertion of skiing keeps you warm. I have not been cross-country skiing in years. Maybe now I will have a chance again.
It sounds silly, but I don't ever remember noticing the cold weather that much when I lived in New York as a student. There was too much else going on. The cold winter wind off the Hudson when I turned west from Broadway to 110th Street where I lived -- that I do remember.
I feel for Robin. I would hate to have to send my husband off alone on a cross-country drive to a strange place. That is the sort of thing you should do together, like pioneers setting off in a covered wagon.