Yes, it snowed this weekend. I can't ever remember flurries this early in November, but we've set a string of weather records lately: the wettest winter followed by the most scorching summer. Now they're predicting colder than normal in the Northwest, whatever that means.
Changing the clocks (forward or back, it doesn't matter) always makes us feel out of sorts and irritable. It's a ridiculous tradition and shown to cause more health and safety problems than any energy saving benefits. Some people like that extra evening daylight in the summer, but at our latitude, it's light almost 16 hours so what's the point? Anyway, my days of scampering around outside at 11 pm are over. (See what I mean? Irritable.)
We were at the Symphony yesterday, but got home just in time to see the last few awful minutes of the Seahawk game. At least we didn't spend all afternoon in the basement watching it.
Our current conductor Ludovic Morlot is French and partial to his Gallic music. The program was Hector Berlioz, and we heard English tenor Ian Bostridge sing "Summer Nights," a series of tragic French love poems. From our fourth row seats, he looked very tall, thin, intense and brilliant in that highly-educated British way. Of course he is skinny, no time to eat. Along with being a world famous recording artist and performer, Bostridge is a historian, music professor, Oxford fellow, writer, etc. etc. with an intimidating travel schedule. Makes you wonder what you've been doing all your life?
I'm with you. That hour we were supposed to gain with the end of DST? I spent half of it fiddling with all the durn clocks.
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