It’s been a dull, wearisome day between the horrendous weather, Erma’s current health, and my gut issues. I detest not being able to go out to explore on a free day, but I had no business going out in the weather and with my stomach waging war; plus, Erma is calmer when I am beside her with my hand on her.

The stories I have been reading about the weather and folks traveling are incredible. Several friends are having furnace problems and several others are reporting their travel woes.

I have listened to a number of documentaries, napping in sparse intervals. I am listening to CSPAN’s presidential “Life Portrait” series for several weeks and tonight I am learning more about James Buchanan. The series first aired around 1999 but is still fascinating studies.

All four pooches are with me in my study. Erma’s condition is unchanged.

In closing, I am sharing Robert Frost’s, “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.

This deceptively simple poem is by Robert Frost (1874 – 1963). He wrote it in 1922 in a few moments after being up the entire night writing a long and complicated poem. The poem uses an AABA rhyme scheme. The repetition of the last line emphasizes the profundity contained in the last stanza, a popular reading for funerals.