So it's wintertime. That's not much of a revelation except to what few readers we may have in the Southern hemisphere (and yes, there are a few of those). Georgia isn't really famous for our winters unless you count the adventures of Buford Calloway. You won't find much weather forecasting at ABG. It's just not our thing. Self-commiseration on the other hand...
We've passed one brush with Jack Frost on Wednesday and he seems to be preparing another swipe at us on Friday evening. Of course the forecast could change by then leaving us to bundle up against the threat of temperatures plummeting into the mid 40s and not rising much more above 60 in the warmest part of the day. But this is an El Nino year, a phenomenon that brings wacky weather to Georgia periodically and leaves us to wonder, with that little brat on the loose, just where could El Madre possibly be? Parents these days...
So now everyone is running around crazy, buying up all the milk and bread. And then there's the liquor store, which creates some social issues since the local Methodists recognize each other in the booze line but the more plentiful Baptists do not. But keep in mind that all of it, every last drop, is medicinal.
Preparations will continue until the evil flakes begin to gather on the pavement, at which time, no one in Georgia knows how to operate an automobile. But all the possible preparation, including making sure not one single loaf of bread, pack of hot dog buns, or even the last English muffin is available for purchase at any store, anywhere. Preparation is important as a snowstorm that starts on Friday evening could leave us stranded in our homes until at least lunchtime on Saturday.
So there it is. No time for more. I'm off to make preparations of my own. If you don't hear from me, I'm trapped and unable to escape...who am I fooling? If I get trapped, you'll probably hear from me.
Historian, self-proclaimed gentleman, agrarian-at-heart, & curator extraordinaire