You folks may well be used to snow. I grew up in Los Angeles and then moved to San Francisco. I remember trying to convince one of my East-Coast architects that we really, genuinely did not have a frost line. That guy hated it, hated it, hated it, when I was right. I think after that, he stopped talking to me, had someone else call. Now I’m wondering about frost lines here in France. Do we have one? If we did, would it matter? After all, my places are already built.
I’m staying in. My idea of getting out in the snow is to snap a few pictures, then scuttle back into the warmth. I don’t ski. I don’t ice skate. I don’t snowboard. Jacques loves this weather. I wish I had a shot of him rolling in snow, which he has done a couple of times, now. You’ll have to settle for documented evidence that the balcony plants are now plantsicles and that if I want to watch BBC I’ll have to scrape off the dish.
For me, it’s a good day to be grateful that I have working radiators, a reasonably well-stocked kitchen, plenty to read and no absolute need to leave the apartment.