"It might as well be spring" -- a mere zero (old style) this morning. Enough to send one out in the garden to plant something.
Fresh snow reveals that Teh Rabbit has been in the front flower-bed, nomming on the bits of grass sticking up. Some mornings we can see where he spent quite some time in the yard, other mornings it's apparent he crossed the yard at high speed.
Speaking of moving at speed, the new "pickers" on the bottom of the Rambler's boots are doing their job, and I stride about with entire confidence over all sorts of hideous icy footing. The challenge is remembering that I don't have similar gear on Harriet's tires.
Have been reading Michael Ignatieff's biography of Sir Isaiah Berlin--one of those names about whom I've long thought I should know something--and now I'm getting there! It's a long time since I looked at any political theory even secondhand...a perspective on theological thinking that I've neglected... I need to lay hands on some of Anna Akhmatova's poetry too, obviously.
A funeral this afternoon -- a memorial, actually -- for a parishioner who died suddenly some weeks ago in England. Family dynamics will be interesting...estranged offspring promising to kick up some sort of ruckus around and about the proceedings. Trying to devise a sermon that will actually address both the readings chosen and the hearts of those present.
The interment of ashes...in an old cemetery on a Nice. High. Hill. is a lot less daunting since the thermometer rose overnight. I have inherited a Fierce Big Funeral Cloak down to my ankles but may have to supplement it with a most non-clerical toque...at least we're not having to recruit pall-bearers for this stint.
And last night I confirmed that my legacy from my parents had been transferred into my bank. It represents an awful lot of ladders climbed, underground, in the dark, and an awful lot of essays marked at four a.m.