Plans Awry

St. Patrick's Day didn't go exactly as planned, but very much the way I thought it might.  The corned beef was in the crock pot by 4:30 in the morning (one can always hope).  It was a big one and I knew it would need a long time.  Man, it was cold, cold, cold down in the barn and there were a couple of flurries of hail pinging on the metal roof.  The girls prolonged their breakfast, nibbling every last grain and nosing around for more, not because they were so hungry; they were delaying going outside for even that brief time before I opened the big room.

Harold called.  He'd caught some bug or other and was feeling punk.  As much as I enjoy his company, he needed to stay under the blankets and I appreciated him not "sharing."  I waited to see what the weather would do, and then called Pete and rescinded my invitation, to his relief, I'm sure.  As we discussed, not only could the roads be treacherous, St. Patrick's Day is one of the four heaviest drinking days in America.  The parties had started at 6 a.m. in Sacramento.  Slainte!  Cam needed to go into town, weather or no, and wasn't sure she'd make it back at the planned time for dinner.  Some days are like that.

The photo was taken after the second hail storm of the day, just about the time the guys would have been on the road.  That white stuff is all hail, no snow, and it's been so cold that it still hasn't melted this morning.  I was putting the girls to bed just as Camille drove up.  I'd already eaten, but as I said, corned beef makes good leftovers, so I reheated the meat, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage for her.  A hot meal after a day running errands was welcome.

The saying goes, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."  Me?  I make corned beef.