OK. I admit it. I haven't posted on the MoooseBlog since late November. I have held a Christmas party. I have been to the States. I have made four different batches of split pea soup. I have seen snow fall...and melt...in London (and have laughed at the complete inability of southern England to cope with the snow). I have made cheese fondue. I have applied for lots of jobs. And have been rejected for a fellowship. I even beat Matthew at Scrabble. Twice. But have I posted on the MooseBlog? Erm...no, I have not.
So what is new on the MooseBlog? Well, Moose has grown. A lot. He is now somewhere between 25 and 30 pounds, though still as skinny as a rail. Moose is now functionally house trained, although he still loves to pee on the new bath mat that my mother gave me for Christmas.
Back at our house in Richmond, Matthew, Moose, and I are frankly warm. I say this with regret and a little bit of shock, as I returned from my Christmas visit to sunny San Diego and was met almost immediately with snow! (Well, actually, I was immediately met by a very carsick Moose, but after the carsickness passed, the snow set in). Now, for those of you who don't live in the UK, and especially for those of you who are from snowy places, you must understand one important thing about snow in southern England (I say southern England because I have been told, rather emphatically (by a northerner), that it is just in the south that this is true): every day it snows is a snow day.
No, seriously. This place shuts down when it snows. Not just shuts down. Screeches to a halt. We got an inch of snow and the rail lines literally stopped. Practically no one (except Matthew, the one with the best work ethic in the world) went to work.
Interestingly, while no one else (except Matthew) went to work, I did go to work. Yes, I was called in to work at my chiropractor's office because the regular receptionist, who lives ten miles away, couldn't get in. Good thing that I live across the street, really.
Now, while I barely tolerated an annoying week of everyone telling me that we cope with the snow better in Wyoming because we salt (we don't), grit (we don't, really), and have better cars (well, not cars so much as tires and nerves of steel), I did take heart in the fact that all of the workers skiving off from their jobs were living it up in a way that we from snowy locations really don't. They were all (and I mean all--all of London) in Richmond Park, sledding, making snowmen, and having snowball fights. I haven't done any of those things in years. Decades, even.
Matthew and I did brave the snow to head down to Mells, for Matthew's father's birthday. Since I have yet to get a UK driver's license, I was unable to help with the winter driving, but Matthew is a natural in the snow. We made it to Somerset (against the odds, apparently) without incident and were able to enjoy a wonderful birthday party. Moose (oh yeah, this blog is about Moose, isn't it?) had a blast playing in the snow and was none too thrilled when we dragged his carsick self back to London. But perhaps the best part about Somerset in the snow (aside from the curvaceous snow-woman that Matthew's brother, Paul, and Paul's wife, Vicci built) was the sight of Stonehenge in the snow.
Considering that the one and only time I have ever been to Stonehenge (yes, this photo was taken from outside the chain-link fence, in what even my hearty Wyoming self has to classify as the bitter cold) I was eleven, wind-bitten, and thoroughly rained on, snowy Stonehenge was a revelation. I even made Matthew (thanks, Matthew!) turn around and drive through genuine snow drifts so I could get a picture.
Ah, it appears that my blogging fingers are out of shape from the month away. But I will be back next week with some real sarcasm and an actual Moose update. Moose, in case you are wondering, is asleep at our feet while Matthew and I watch the BBC and contemplate turning off the heat now that the weather has warmed up.
Apparently it is supposed to snow on Wednesday. Snow day!
