Mr. and Mrs. Teabody Vie for "Napping Champion" Honors

Good Sunday morning, darling Gentle Readers! Mrs. Teabody greets the day in ebullient spirits as she is most refreshed after a late afternoon and evening of idleness brought on by the lovely "ermine" snow and a blank appointments diary. To note:

As you should recall - -'twas only yestermorn after all (Mon Dieu!) - -Mrs. Teabody had a journey of more than TWO HUNDRED miles to undertake solo. Happily, she can report arriving at her destination without incident and with time to spare having as her traveling amusement a hands-free dialogue with Duchess Carol of Faringwell Farm in Connecticut. The Duchess brought many smiles to Mrs. Teabody's face as she plugged along.

Pardon, Gentle Reader, as the odious cat sits inconsolable cat-er-wailing whilst wearing the most annoying cat expression. Often as not, the odious cat itself does not know what she wants and she is merely engaging in attention-grabbing behavior. She has been fed, watered, "treated," and now she simply wails and looks on Mrs. Teabody in a most accusatory fashion. Mrs. Teabody suspects she wants some smaller creature to dominate in some brutal manner and this activity MUST take place outdoors. Adieu, Odious cat! Now to the matter. . .

The Teabodys had barely made it home to Chez Teabody when the snow began in earnest recalling another favorite poem about snow by Mr. Robert Frost:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know. 

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here 

To watch his woods fill up with snow. 

My little horse must think it queer 

To stop without a farmhouse near 

Between the woods and frozen lake 

The darkest evening of the year. 

He gives his harness bells a shake 

To ask if there is some mistake. 

The only other sound's the sweep 

Of easy wind and downy flake. 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.

Mrs. Teabody recalls how much she HATED hearing a college professor say the poem was not about snow at all, but about death. Mrs. Teabody would have none of that. Why, there must be a thousand poems about death, and this poem mentions a "Snowy" evening in the title--not a "Deathy" evening. Mon Dieu! The very thought.

While Mr. and Mrs. Teabody watched their woods "fill up with snow," they were initially quite lively enjoying each other's company and clever repartee whilst sipping some delightful Chocolate Chai and watching hosts of feathered friends visiting the feeders. Mrs. Teabody may have already mentioned that a pair of pileated woodpeckers often dine on a stump close by Chez Teabody and watching them is quite extraordinary. Also most watchable - - especially in snow - -  are cardinal couples. There is also a lovely Carolina wren who often spends time just outside the French door on the porch.

Just around dusk, Mrs. T noticed that Mr. T had nodded off during one of Mrs. T's enchanting stories about slipcovers. That noted, Mrs. T turned to her beloved detective fiction and the very next thing she knew she was roused from HER nap to full darkness and the sound of Mr. T's gentle loud breathing. Need Mrs. Teabody say any more? Truly, it was just one nap after another until time for dinner when Mr. and Mrs. T both decided that ice cream was the perfect repast for  a snowy evening. Shortly afterwards a long winter's nap ensued . . .

Ordinarily, Mrs. Teabody advocates a course of action, but denied the trappings of winter so very long, she recommends an occasional snowy Saturday afternoon swathed in warm soft clothing and "no rules" dining and napping. Try it, Gentle Reader. Do. Ta for now!