We got 6 inches of snow over the last 24 hours, but I could get out and drive around if I wanted to or had some place to go.

This is from our local newspaper, the Estes Park Trail-Gazette.



But since I've nowhere to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Today I worked on a complicated knitted hat project, while listening to a murder mystery audio book set in Scotland. The narrator has a lilting accent, easy to listen to. I download books from the library: e books and audio books, depending on which format is available for a particular book.

Lying low, I have avoided the Super Bowl fever that has taken over in Denver. The fans have always been very loyal, filling the stadium even when the team hardly ever won a game. Even in the years that our team wasn't in the big game, Super Bowl Sunday has been a high holiday at our house, so imagine how it is when our team is playing. We don't dress up in the colors, but we have special food. Even this year when we are separated by many miles, Mr. Troutbend and I have discussed our respective menus. He bought some potato chips, a rare treat at our house, and I bought those Little Smokies sausages and Woodchuck cider.

I'm going to fix them a couple of ways: in barbecue sauce, and another batch in sweet and sour sauce. Maybe heated up plain and dipped in mustard. However prepared, they'll get old fast, and there will be leftovers. Not exactly gourmet, but festive for here.

If I was in Las Vegas, we'd have my cousin over for the day. She'd feast on chips and sub sandwiches and V-8 juice, her favorite. She calls me almost every night and has let me know how disappointed she is that I'm not there to have her over, and her birthday was yesterday and she's also disappointed I'm not there to bring her a chocolate cake and ice cream. Apparently Mr. Troutbend is not going to do this in my stead - she's not related to him.