Yesterday, we had a "winter event," or at least what passes for one in South Carolina. Five inches of snow fell at my house, more than last year at this time, which was more than, well, apparently any day in the eight years previous. As a result, the area bus line suspended service until 10:00 in the morning. No way am I taking my own car out in a mess like that, so I spent my morning at home.
The most jarring upset to my morning schedule was walking the dog. Ginny generally wants to get out the door as soon as she gets up, which is around 6:00 these days. Yesterday, however, she slept until almost 7:00. I got bundled up, got her downstairs, got the leash on, opened the door... and she took one look at the Great Outdoors and decided she didn't want to go for a walk after all.
I know that the walk takes up a good chunk of my morning schedule (30-40 minutes, if we get a full walk in), but I hadn't really appreciated that time until we didn't do it. I ate a leisurely breakfast (usually it takes about three bites), did the readings that I had planned to do at school, washed the dishes that I normally save for when I got home, started a load of laundry... and it still wasn't 7:30.
There was a point to this story, but it has slipped my mind.