Piles of woolen coats and silk scarves lie lazily over the chair and ottoman. It is a gentle afternoon spread out with cups of tea and a huge kettle of Cuban rice simmering on the stove along with a freshly baked apple cake resting on the counter. It might soon snow buckets, for all we know about the home town. A large flock of black crows fly in a cold cloud rapidly passing the window; heading off to find shelter from the rain. They too wonder about Rochester’s weather as they flap vigorously against the wind.
A murder of crows. A company of parrots. A convocation of eagles. I wait for the parliament of owls to rule on what our winter weather shall be.
The annual ‘all socks on notice’ speech fell from my lips last evening. Attention! All dress socks have until ‘Three Kings’ Day’, which is this Friday to locate his or her mate. No location is off limits…make it happen. All white sport socks have until tomorrow to find his or her mate. Your boss and owner has lost her patience. No collective bargaining. No appeals. No discussion.
Sincerely,
Head of Laundry
690 Saint Paul 