And the rain, it raineth every day

Winter has kicked in with a vengeance.  Dark and rain and wind and rain and swear to dog we could raise diving ducks in the puddle at the end of the driveway.    I'm sort of out of training for this.  After that sunny October, I was fooled into thinking this might be a bright winter.  Our old Fly cat, the only cat who goes outside, is really ticked off at us because we have misplaced the warm sunshine again.  He goes from door to door, demanding that we open Heinlin's "Door into Summer," and every door in the house now seems to be tuned to deluge.  So he hunkers on the sofa and grumbles, glaring accusingly at us now and then.

And though he's grumpy, he's not a touch on the ski resort owners.  All this precipitation is coming down as water.  The snow level is above most of the resorts.  Usually they like to open for Thanksgiving weekend but this rain is melting any skiff of snow that has accumulated so far.

I can't, in conscience, be pleased with this, even though we are scheduled to drive over the passes for a wedding in December.  Lots of people make their living with the ski season.  Just because I hate, hate, hate to drive in the snow, it's still not right for me to hope the freezing level stays above the passes.  It's not right. Really, it's downright immoral.  Sigh.

Saturday was DH's birthday.  Being the boy he is, what he wanted for his birthday was to make a donation to the Marine's Toys for Tots fund-raiser.  Surely, I am among the most fortunate of women.

We went to see "Lincoln."  I liked it much more than I thought I would. It's an adult movie in the very best sense of the word.  It's cerebral.  You have to use your brain while you're watching. It's about the politicking needed to get the 13th amendment passed. Beautiful cinematography, wonderful acting.  Tommy Lee Jones sort of stuck out (he's so identifiable) and I was startled by his bad wig, but by the end of the movie, he was totally believable, and the wig was SUPPOSED to look bad.  Daniel Day Lewis was brilliant.  Magnificent makeup, splendid costumes (The lace is all handmade!  Lincoln's socks, though - I don't think they were hand-knit) And Sally Field is due an Oscar for a subtle, richly layered character that could have been a cheesy caricature.  I wouldn't mind seeing it again.

Oh, and the glorious language that they used!  I could wallow in the language for hours.  "This is a man with cold slime in his veins instead of hot red blood! He is a reptile so low that you could not crush him beneath your boot. And yet . . ."  I wish  I had written this.