Spittle and Other Happy Subjects

Ice crystals are currently falling from the sky - not snowflakes, not raindrops, but miniscule chunks of frozen water. I dashed from the house to leave the recycling on the curb[/kerb] for tomorrow morning's pickup wearing Ali's boots and an unbuttoned jacket only to have the heavens spit dozens of tiny icicles at my head.

In other news, we may be haunted. Early last month, the light on our front stoop burned out. At some point a couple of weeks later, it miraculously worked again. I figured either Ali or J had simply replaced the bulb; goodness knows it weren't I what clambered up on a chair out-of-doors to provide the lamp with a fresh filament. After returning from holiday vacation, though, the light was not functioning once again - "Blast this power-sucking light fixture!" thought I. As Ali closed the front door behind us this evening as we headed to the grocery store, the lamp suddenly flicked on. She looked at me. I looked at her. We were both vaguely spooked. And on my way out to the curb[/kerb] moments ago, I desperately willed our housemate ghoul to leave the light on for me, for I would not have enjoyed navigating a sidewalk spiky with icy spittle in something approaching the darkest dark imaginable.