Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne
Rabbit, rabbit!
I see we have achieved April Fool's Day Blizzard II: The You've Got to Be Kidding Me. When I went to bed, it was just a lot of sleety rain and slushy ice that I shoveled off the front steps in the hope that it wouldn't freeze into a solid glassy layer overnight. By the time I woke up, it was snow. Lots and lots of wet and sticking snow that I am going to shovel off the front steps—and the front walk, and the driveway, and wherever else my mother needs—as soon as I can stomach it. The pussy willow and the forsythia are flowering bewilderedly in the back yard. There is a robin hopping around the broken conifer branches with a sort of reality-defying cheer. Whee.
In the meantime I dreamed about an outdoor production of a Shakespeare play that doesn't exist (with boatloads of numinous greenwood, so I'm sorry—doesn't it feel like Shakespeare should have written a play about Robin Hood, with fairies?) and winged cats going into space (which someone must have written and published in the '80's), neither of which derives obviously from watching Dan Duryea in Cy Endfield's The Underworld Story (1950), re-reading Gypsy Rose Lee's The G-String Murders (1941), and reading half of Lee's Mother Finds a Body (1942) before bed.
We who are about to shovel salute you. This is ridiculous.
I see we have achieved April Fool's Day Blizzard II: The You've Got to Be Kidding Me. When I went to bed, it was just a lot of sleety rain and slushy ice that I shoveled off the front steps in the hope that it wouldn't freeze into a solid glassy layer overnight. By the time I woke up, it was snow. Lots and lots of wet and sticking snow that I am going to shovel off the front steps—and the front walk, and the driveway, and wherever else my mother needs—as soon as I can stomach it. The pussy willow and the forsythia are flowering bewilderedly in the back yard. There is a robin hopping around the broken conifer branches with a sort of reality-defying cheer. Whee.
In the meantime I dreamed about an outdoor production of a Shakespeare play that doesn't exist (with boatloads of numinous greenwood, so I'm sorry—doesn't it feel like Shakespeare should have written a play about Robin Hood, with fairies?) and winged cats going into space (which someone must have written and published in the '80's), neither of which derives obviously from watching Dan Duryea in Cy Endfield's The Underworld Story (1950), re-reading Gypsy Rose Lee's The G-String Murders (1941), and reading half of Lee's Mother Finds a Body (1942) before bed.
We who are about to shovel salute you. This is ridiculous.

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Here it was a lovely sunny day (with April showers later) and the cherry trees are blossoming. OTOH a couple of hundred miles north (i.e. snowiest place in England), my mother reported snow last week and snow at Easter isn't actually too unusual.
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Congratulations? (Where is that?)
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That's pretty neat, actually.
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The cherry trees where I am have dropped dead blooms, and a few have fruit--but the blooms came mid-January. Most of the flowers survived the night-time frosts we've had between then and late March.
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It has snowed this late—and on this date—before, but that doesn't mean I think it's a good idea!
(Another friend lives in midstate NY, where it snowed close to May Day last year, IIRC. Or perhaps it was the year prior. Recent enough to part of the madness, anyway.)
Yikes.
Sorry, robins and happy blooms!
The crocuses have definitely had it.
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Nice!
I think my personal favorite weather-timing story (that I lived through) was the year the Fourth of July fireworks over Casco Bay were preempted by a spectacular thunder-and-lightning storm. We stayed up and watched it and it was absolutely just as good.
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Yes! I first heard about it a few days ago. I'll need to set time aside to watch it, but I'd like to do so. The book set me on the path to appreciating William Wyler properly.
[edit] Obviously, if you get to it before me, please provide a report!
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I had to think for a moment before I was certain he didn't. And clearly he should have.
I can think of cats in space (Heinlein, The Cat Who Walked Through Walls), but the closest I can think of for winged cats is Mercedes Lackey doing gryphon kittens, and I'm failing completely on both at once. OTOH I'm certain I've seen illustrations somewhere.
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Thank you! It was indeed aerobic.
I had to think for a moment before I was certain he didn't. And clearly he should have.
Where's that time machine?
I can think of cats in space (Heinlein, The Cat Who Walked Through Walls), but the closest I can think of for winged cats is Mercedes Lackey doing gryphon kittens, and I'm failing completely on both at once.
Ursula K. Le Guin's Catwings are the winged cats I know about; I grew up with the first two books, discovered the second two much more recently. I can't seem to find winged space cats, though, and I'm amazed. Why didn't that happen in the '80's?
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I'm sorry your April Fooling is so brutal in its humour: wishing all strength to your shovelling arm!
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I woke up and thought, why didn't he? The fairies fit very naturally in the dream, too!
I'm sorry your April Fooling is so brutal in its humour: wishing all strength to your shovelling arm!
Thank you! I have done one round and am waiting to see if there needs to be a second . . .
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Much appreciated!
(Nice icon. New or I just haven't seen it?
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{rf}
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Can you volunteer?
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I grew up with Catwings, but I've never heard of Space Cat. Is it also a book?
Don't recall any Spacecatwings (which inevitably reminds me of Goodspaceguy).
Well, that's a thing.
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Ruthven Todd sounds like an interesting guy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruthven_Todd "He was involved with the surrealists at the time of the 1936 International Surrealist Exhibition. During the 1930s, he was friendly with Dylan Thomas, Geoffrey Grigson, Humphrey Jennings, David Gascoyne[3] and Wyndham Lewis, contributing to the Lewis issue of Julian Symons's Twentieth Century Verse.[2] Lewis recruited Todd to keep awake the dozing Ezra Pound, whose portrait Lewis was painting. A character based on Todd was included in Symons' first detective story, The Immaterial Murder Case. Todd's two allegorical novels Over the Mountain and The Lost Traveller both feature protagonists on symbolic journeys; Todd acknowledged the influence of Lewis and Rex Warner on the latter novel.[1] Over the Mountain, a satire on fascism, has its hero travel to a dystopian nation with an oppressive government.[4] During World War II he was a conscientious objector.[2] He moved to America in 1947, where he held a position at a university in Iowa, and ran the Weekend Press during the 1950s."
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I had to shovel for both! Somehow this feels deeply unfair.
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Nine
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No! Get him on the line and make him finish it!
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Sweet.
(I am responding to all outstanding LJ-comments; I don't know why, but it feels like a kind of final necessary tidying-up before I make whatever decisions I'm going to make about this journal.)