Last night, I stayed up far too late, talking books with a reader friend :waves hi to Carolina: and woke to a gorgeous sight. More than the single inch of snow we'd been forecast, everything was blanketed under a stunning blanket of white, bare tree branches blanketed, and even more drifting down. It's still coming. DH ambled out of the kitchen, asking if anybody wanted French toast and bacon. As it turns out, it was cinnamon French toast, which makes it even better. That made it official. Snow day.
Our household contains only adults, and DH still had to go in, but it still counts. Still counts as well even though I'm heading down to the coffee house for a writing session, because that's what I want to do. So what's the difference? By my standards, a lifting of the normal restritions or regulations. The chance to breathe and step back from the every day and ask what would be the best thing for this moment. What would give pleasure? What would get us ready for the return to normal life, stronger, more rested and refreshed?
For me, the answer was immediate. I stayed in my pajamaas slightly longer than usual, because eating surprise cinnamon French toast should not be done while wearing regular clothes. My brain meandered back to the conversation of the night before, of the many things I love about historical romance; the mental journey to another time and place, the chance to climb in the skins of hero and heroine and live not only through the time but through the love story. Which is a good place for a writer of historical romance to be.
Which is also a good place for a happy dance. Bee Gees make me happy and heroines who make history make me happy, so finding the two mushed together is even more fitting for the specialness of a snow day.
What makes a snow day or other found day extra special for you?