Da Winnah!

"Da winnah and still champeen!," was the referee's cry as he'd hold up the triumphant boxer's hand.  (Do they still do that?)  Michael is taking our race as a daily thing now.  I swear he is grinning as I make my way to the porch well behind him.  To see him this happy, I wouldn't beat him even if I could.  (Ha!  As if I ever could.)  That gawdawful wind had pretty much died down when Mike got here, but there was still a drizzle of rain.  He insisted it wasn't going to stop him.  Hey, he's the professional.  Who am I to tell him no?  He figures to be done by Thursday.  I'm sure he'll be as glad to be done with this job as I will.  I know it's taken a lot longer than he originally estimated, and the weather definitely hasn't cooperated.  He was working shirtless when he started.  Yesterday he was wearing a parka. 

Mike wasn't the only one cold yesterday.  I'm not sure who is training whom here, but Michael looked cold so I tucked him in.  He seemed appreciative.  It made me think of my mother.  "I'm cold, honey, put on your sweater."

The computer has gone wonky and has lost it's alignment.  This photo at sundown is still worth sharing.  If the prognosticators are correct (and sometimes they are), we should have good weather for a day or two before the next storm hits.  One can hope, and we'll all be winnahs!