A Gray Day in the Life

The endless gray is winning. I work really hard to fight off blahs during this time of the year, but it seems that gray always wins in the end. Today is such a day. We've had several days of this dreary weather now, and the reason the gray is winning is that the weather forecast calls for several more.

Knowing that it won't end soon gives the gray an added advantage.

So, I'm admittedly ugly this morning. I'll try not to take it out on readers, and because it's such a drab day, I may change courses a bit and add snippets to the blog throughout the day. Then, again, I may not. No promises.

So far on this day, the papers have been late, but do remember from a blog posting earlier this week on that subject that I'm not going to complain about the papers coming late. There has been some complaining during paper reading throughout the week, however.

Bill has issued many more complaints than I have.

He's got good reason. He reads stories from beginning to end, while I read what interests me and then move on to the next story. Several times this week Bill has been reading stories that start on the front page of the paper, move on to the second page and then don't end anywhere else in the paper.

In most cases the abrupt "end" of the story comes in the middle of a sentence on page 2. So, somewhere out there where no man dares to go, there are a bunch of story endings floating around. And, in our house, we have a curious man who has been short-changed and frustrated by not getting the full-meal deal in journalism.

So far, he hasn't spouted out any such similar incidents this morning, but I've already brought to his attention that our own Skip Pucci, much beloved Sandpoint native, construction contractor, wine and opera connoisseur, walking-bridge flower-pot man, once wore ringlets and a bow in his hair.

At least, that's what the paper suggests with this week's "Who Am I" column.

It's hard to look at the picture of that pretty little girl and her curly locks while reading about the mystery person playing football as a little 140-plus pounder for legendary Coach Cotton Barlow. And, it's especially difficult for this old coot, who's still in the dark ages, to read about the little adorable darling in the picture marrying a gal.

Oh well, it's a change from the mundane, and when the days are gray, any change from the mundane is welcome. It will be interesting to see how many people call in with the right "Who Am I" answer during the week ahead.

Maybe there's something I'm missing by drawing the assumption that the person really does sound a lot like my friend Skip. So, I'll leave room for leniency on this journalistic issue.

Nothing has happened outside since I began this post. The clouds are still hanging down low, allowing only a portion of the mountains to show off to us this morning. A slimy-feeling snow was falling earlier, but even that has stopped.

I guess I'll take a break and head out to do the chores. Maybe something exciting will happen. If so, I'll report it.

In the meantime, happy blah Sunday.