Apparently, walking behind a snow blower, no matter the miles, does not constitute exercise. If it did, I would have lost at least one pound by now. I figure a pound a storm would be a fair trade. But no, not one. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I weigh as much (and maybe a bit more) than I did when January began. When I emailed this sentiment to a Cyndy over at Riverrim, she responded with '2 hrs. of snow removal equals one good appetite.' ** There's a thought.
Between the storms, and work, and if I don't fall asleep (because at least part of me thinks it has exercised), I've been carding and spinning batts of Shetland and silk that I dyed last fall. Each batt delights me. The variations in the hand dyed fibers, each a bit different, all part of the same, fascinate. So much fun.
At Rhinebeck, I treated myself to one special purchase, a Woolee Winder. I'd always told myself that I didn't need it. Maybe not. The gain in time and the extra yardage that fit onto the bobbin makes it more valuable than I'd thought.