Old man hangs in
I've got to hand it to the old man. I had my doubts early, but Old man Winter has been hanging on. I thought he'd slipped away when it reached 60, but with the paddles to his chest his chilly heartbeat came beeping back through the heart monitors. This morning it was 50 degrees and for all practical purposes I figured the old guy was out. 50 degrees in the morning? That's like a closed casket or something, but the old guy ripped through the casket and turned the rain into snow and then with a mighty huff he sent the temperature plummeting 20 some odd degrees.

(Now between you and me, I know that the DC version of old man winter is a little weak. He's getting on in years, though you wouldn't know it from the way this town reacts to his dandruff and icy stares. In all fairness, I'm judging him by past performance; it wouldn't be right to compare him to a real winter. Compared to someplace like Texas, he's like Super Old Man winter. Whose comic book incidentally never took off. I digress.)

We interrupt this post to announce that there will be no more gressing for today. Tune in tomorrow for another exciting gressful post.