The Weather Disrupts My Routine

It's cold. I've closed 15% of my storm windows. I've recovered my fuzzy (yet sophisticated) slippers, and I've put them on my feet. Every cat in the house is wound up in his/her own tight, heat-preserving catroll. It is overcast and windy. I'm staying home. I had the usual planned for today - to go to Lake Calhoun and ruminate on murders past. Not any murders I've been involved in, mind you. Ancient murders. Murders from the days of yore. Murders predating the Great War and, for the sake of my squeamishness, color photography. I wanted to wear my blackest coat, and shade my morbid visage with my blackest bumbershoot. I wanted to shuffle along the paved lakeway, pointing my gnarled finger toward desolate spots while inquiring aloud, "Is THIS where Kitty Ging was booted out of a carriage and whomped on the head, resulting in her unnatural death? No? Well, is THAT where Kitty Ging was booted out of.." and so on. You can't appreciate a good murder until the threat is long past. You can take your gory modern murders with you - I can't bear to look. Yuck. You go now.