The colors of Nemo

For more than twenty-four hours, Nemo visited the Boston area and left us crippled with just as many inches of snow. I appreciate any good excuse to stay nestled in at home and Nemo certainly provided us with one. However, after a day of hibernation, we slowly crept out of our homes this afternoon to brave the snow covered world. And then we went right back inside again. The storm was in fact beautiful in all its varied colors and expressions-it was eerie and fantastic in its strength. I loved falling asleep to the incessant howling of the wind. 

In truth, it was all somewhat refreshing, because during a blizzard nothing else matters except the reality of the storm. Nature upends our surroundings and while she does that, there is a temporary lull in time. Or at least that's how it feels to me. So during that temporary lull, I drink tea and eat girl scout cookies and watch movies in bed. I do all the things I love to do. So cheers to Nemo. Thanks for the visit. 

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A Snowy Sunday in Somerville

Winter has arrived in all her glory. Last night snow descended on the city and left our streets and homes covered in white. Wrapped in layers (and yet, not enough of them), we walked to Davis Square by passing Powder House Square and Nathan Tufts Park. Before today, I didn't know that the Powder House located in the park was originally built in the first decade of the 18th century and that in 1774, British troops usurped a substantial amount of gunpowder that had been stored there. Naturally, this enraged local residents and led to what is known as the "Powder Alarm," something I didn't know about either. It's a wonderful thing to discover such history in one's midst! 

Later I found myself wandering through the Public Garden downtown, where many others similarly walked to take note of the wintry environs. The bronze statue of George Washington is a favorite of mine. I don't think it could be any more perfect. The last photograph was shot on Beacon Street, just before I turned onto Charles to lead me through Beacon Hill. From there, I made my way home, but not before I picked up the beloved Sunday NYT, now eagerly waiting for my perusal.