I don’t know about Punxsatawny Phil, but nobody around here is seeing any shadows today. What I’ve never understood is whether seeing the shadow means only six more weeks of winter, or at least six more weeks of winter, or even exactly six more weeks of winter. In parts of the country where I have lived, only six more weeks of winter from now would be a joyful prospect indeed, and in others it would be about right, and in places where I aspire to live, it would be “what the hell are you talking about?”

So if the shadow does not appear . . . .

This starts to sound like one of those obnoxious logic problems about identical triplets one of whom always tells the truth and one of whom always lies and one of whom is insane, and you have to come up with one single question to ask each of them that will reveal which is which. Phooey.

In other news, Sabra just spent a minute kneading my sore arm (return of an old RSI). It feels wonderful. Whatever Basement Cat says, I think she’s a good one to have around.

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