It’s snowing. In Dublin. On the 26th of March. Good thing there’s no such thing as climate change. SPEAKING OF WHICH. Well, not really, but kind of: In one of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, probably THE LONG WINTER, there’s a scene where Laura is bundled up in bed and she describes the level of bundling to be sufficient that only her nose pokes out so she can breathe fresh air. I’ve spent most of my life (not, you know, constantly, but) trying to accomplish that particular bundle. The closest…
