The Miller Report 02052026
Miller's Mysteries Blog
Greetings and Welcome!
Welcome to Miller’s Mysteries Blog, where Southington winter weather provides both ambiance and excuses. 
The cats watch snow fall like it’s performance art, while wildlife wanders through uninvited. The neighbor’s goats pause mid-stare, clearly wondering why humans write instead of nap. Plans are brewing for AMC Movies, restaurant outings, and festive decorating runs. Until then, pull up a chair and enjoy the warmth.
• Across my Desk!!
Connecticut’s farms hold decades of memories for our family—from visits with our children to shared moments with our grandchildren, rooted in fields that have shaped who we are. While the state speaks proudly of farmland preservation and stewardship, those values are betrayed when abrupt tax increases make farming financially impossible. Policies that force farmers to sell or abandon their land erase not just open space, but generations of history, care, and connection.
Tools of the weatherman:
Twinkling Stars
Weather Sticks
Woolly Worms
Squirrel's Tails
Groundhog Prognostication
Red Sky Matthew 16:2-3
thermometers, barometers, anemometers, hygrometers, rain gauges, wind vanes
weather balloons, Data Networks
Talking About Aliens in Miller's Math Class
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iw7BCK5-ZHw
Story to St. Peter
https://www.facebook.com/reel/1781654412408458
The February 5, 2026, birth chart shows the Sun in Aquarius sparking brilliant ideas at inconvenient times, usually when you’re supposed to be doing something practical.
The Moon suggests emotional clarity arrives only after coffee, snacks, or a dramatic sigh out the window.
Mercury is extra chatty, making this a great day for clever writing, bold opinions, and accidentally oversharing something charming.
Cosmic advice for the day: embrace your quirks, trust the odd idea that won’t leave you alone, and don’t argue with anyone until at least the second cup ☕✨
This weekend in Southington is bringing classic February attitude: Friday night gets cold and moody, just warming up enough to glare at you.
Saturday shows up windy with a little snow in the morning, perfect for dramatic coats, slippery sidewalks, and heroic trips for coffee.
Sunday cranks the cold way down but keeps the sunshine on, like winter saying, “You’re welcome… and you’re freezing.”
Forecast summary: bundle up, embrace indoor plans, and consider the couch a perfectly valid destination.
NASA reports that Earth continues to orbit the Sun without incident, maintaining a perfect record of not flying off into space.
Astronauts aboard the International Space Station successfully conducted experiments involving microgravity, science, and locating floating pens that escaped five minutes earlier.
Mission controllers confirmed that Mars is still dusty, mysterious, and stubbornly refusing to reveal whether it was ever impressed by our rovers.
NASA’s closing statement: the universe remains vast, fascinating, and completely unconcerned with our schedules—but we’re learning cool things anyway 🚀✨
• The Reader
Chantal sits at her vanity table, makeup carefully arranged, the lamp casting a warm glow. It’s late afternoon, and she has half an hour before she leaves for work. Her fancy floral notebook and rose-gold pencil sit beside her phone. She opens Mindmyst Tales and starts reading with quiet interest. The scent of hairspray and vanilla lotion hangs in the air. She sips a peach iced tea through a straw. Every line gives her a spark of dialogue to use later.
• Math of the Week
1. While light snow taps against the kitchen window and the temperature outside is 24°F, Bob is baking loaves of bread that each require 1.75 cups of flour. If he plans to bake 8 loaves for neighbors snowed in by the storm, how many total cups of flour does he need, and how many full 10-cup bags of flour must he open?
2. With the thermostat set to 68°F to battle the winter cold, Michele is making cookies that bake for 12 minutes per batch. If the oven takes 6 minutes to preheat and she plans to bake 5 batches without turning the oven off, what is the total time from turning on the oven to removing the final batch?
3. As snow lightly covers the backyard and the outdoor temperature drops from 30°F to 22°F, Bob adjusts a soup-bread recipe that originally serves 4 people. If he doubles the recipe to serve 8 people and the original recipe uses 2⅓ cups of water, how many cups of water will the doubled recipe require?
4. While icy wind rattles the door, Michele measures sugar for muffins using a scale. Each muffin requires 45 grams of sugar, and she plans to bake 18 muffins. If her kitchen scale only measures up to 500 grams at a time, how many times must she weigh sugar, and how much sugar will be on the scale during the final weighing?
5. As Bob and Michele watch snowflakes fall and wait for the oven to beep, the kitchen temperature rises steadily from 62°F to 72°F over 20 minutes. Assuming the temperature increases at a constant rate, what is the rate of temperature increase per minute, and what will the kitchen temperature be after 35 minutes?
• Now, This Week's Exciting Story
The Hike
The group set out just after breakfast, snowshoes strapped on and spirits high, convinced they were about to enjoy the most peaceful winter hike imaginable. The snow was fresh, the air sharp enough to wake every sense, and the woods felt hushed, as if holding their breath. Someone even said, “This is going to be easy,” which winter immediately took as a personal challenge.
For the first stretch, the trail was well-behaved, clearly marked, and politely winding through snow-laden trees. Boots crunched rhythmically, jokes bounced between friends, and everyone admired how competent they all looked. Steam rose from collars, and optimism hung in the air like a weather forecast that had not yet betrayed them.
Then the snow began drifting. The neat little path softened, blurred, and slowly melted into a wide, suspiciously blank stretch of white. The group paused, staring down at the ground with intense interest, as if the trail might reappear out of embarrassment.
Someone suggested the trail was “just over there,” pointing confidently in a direction that felt correct but had no supporting evidence. Another nodded thoughtfully, because nodding costs nothing and looks reassuring. They continued forward, snowshoes squeaking, each step taken with the certainty of people who absolutely did not want to turn around yet.
The woods grew quieter, and the snow deeper, piling into elegant drifts that erased any trace of previous hikers. Laughter bubbled up again, slightly louder now, because laughter is the universal signal for “everything is totally fine.” They congratulated themselves on being adventurous, which felt much better than admitting confusion.
After a while, the group stopped pretending the trail was merely “taking a scenic detour.” The conversation shifted to cabin-related topics: how warm it would be, how close it probably was, and how grilled cheese sounded surprisingly urgent. Someone checked their watch and announced that it was definitely soup time, a statement no one challenged.
Turning back felt like a mutual, unspoken agreement, executed with grace and zero commentary. They followed their own tracks with renewed enthusiasm, marveling at how clever it was that the cabin seemed to move closer the moment they committed to retreat. The trees parted like stage curtains, revealing the cabin exactly where it had been all along.
Inside, snowshoes were kicked off, gloves tossed aside, and the stove was cranked with heroic determination. Butter hit the pan, bread sizzled, and the smell of melting cheese immediately justified every questionable navigation choice made outside. Tomato soup simmered, thick and steaming, like a reward earned through mild peril.
They ate standing up at first, too hungry to bother with plates, dunking sandwiches with reckless joy. Every bite tasted richer, warmer, and more satisfying than any normal lunch had a right to be. Someone said, “This is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had,” and everyone nodded with the seriousness of people who had faced the elements.
No one used the word “lost.” Instead, they described the hike as “exploratory,” “flexible,” and “boldly improvised.” As the snow continued to fall outside and the cabin glowed with warmth, they all agreed on one undeniable truth: food always tastes better when you’ve survived something—even if what you survived was mostly your own confidence.
The calm didn’t last long. As the last crumbs disappeared and mugs were refilled, a sudden gust slammed into the side of the cabin hard enough to rattle the windows. Snow swirled past the glass in thick, sideways sheets, and the woods outside seemed to lean closer, listening.
The lights flickered once. Then twice. Everyone froze, mid-joke, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended them. When the power finally cut out, the cabin fell into a hush broken only by the wind and a collective, unimpressed groan.
Someone lit a lantern, casting long shadows that stretched across the walls and made the room feel instantly smaller. The storm outside grew louder, the wind threading through the trees like a warning. Suddenly, the earlier hike felt less funny and more like the opening chapter of a story no one had planned to star in.
A thump echoed from the porch. Not loud—but deliberate. Every head turned. “Probably snow sliding off the roof,” someone said, immediately followed by, “That sounded way more intentional than snow.”
They bundled up again, courage layered under coats and scarves, and cracked the door open just enough to peek out. The porch was buried, the railing barely visible beneath a fresh wave of snow. Then came another sound—scratching, quick and sharp, right below the steps.
Hearts pounded. Lantern raised, one of them leaned forward, bracing for anything from a fallen branch to a curious forest monster. Instead, a fox burst into view, tail fluffed, eyes bright, clearly offended that the cabin had appeared in the middle of its storm.
Laughter exploded, loud and relieved, echoing into the night. The fox vanished into the white, dignity mostly intact. The woods seemed to exhale, and so did everyone else.
Back inside, they inventoried supplies like seasoned explorers. Plenty of soup. Enough bread for several more heroic grilled cheeses. A stack of firewood that suddenly felt extremely important. Someone declared, “We are thriving,” and meant it.
The fire roared higher, and stories followed—each more exaggerated than the last. The trail vanished faster in every retelling. The snow grew deeper. The wind is more dramatic. Survival, apparently, improves storytelling just as much as it improves appetite.
Another gust shook the cabin, this one stronger, and snow thudded against the roof in heavy clumps. The lantern flickered, shadows dancing like they were enjoying the drama. Outside, the storm howled with renewed energy, clearly not finished showing off.
Then came a new sound: a long creak from somewhere above. The roof held, but the message was clear—winter was serious tonight. They moved with purpose now, reinforcing doors, stacking wood closer, making sure nothing essential was out of reach.
Time blurred into firelight and conversation. Soup was reheated. Sandwiches were made again, slower this time, savored like tradition. Every bite felt earned, like a quiet victory over cold and uncertainty.
Eventually, the storm began to lose its edge. The wind softened, trading fury for exhaustion. Snow still fell, but gently now, like it had said everything it needed to say.
One by one, they stepped onto the porch again. The world had transformed—blanketed, hushed, impossibly bright under the moon. The woods stood calm and respectful, as if impressed by the cabin’s stubborn warmth.
Tracks from earlier were gone, erased completely. Any proof of wandering, confusion, or questionable leadership had vanished with them. Nature, it seemed, had agreed to keep the secret.
Inside, the lantern glowed low, the fire steady and reassuring. Blankets appeared. Chairs were claimed. Someone yawned, and no one judged.
As they settled in for the night, one thing was certain. The hike had been peaceful—eventually. The navigation had been… creative. But the food, the warmth, and the shared victory over winter made it unforgettable.
And though no one ever admitted being lost, every single person knew this much: when the storm comes, when the trail disappears, and when the cabin light finally glows—survival tastes exactly like grilled cheese and tomato soup.
===========SHADOW
The highway glowed orange, and every car stopped in unison. He stepped out, drawn toward a pulsing disc in the mist. Suddenly, he felt someone—or something—moving inside his chest.
Connecticut wasn’t under attack; it had already surrendered from within.
SHADOW by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4Z36PS3
Get your hands on a copy now and read for yourself the amazing testimonies entrusted to us for the record!
From quiet New England streets to shadowed supernatural crossroads, Joseph Miller writes stories where the ordinary collides with the impossible. Enter his universe at:
https://warlockpublishing.com/author-joseph-miller.html
📚📖📘📙📗📕📔📒📓📔📒📓📚 ✨🌙💥👣️👽️🛸🚀☁️ 🕵️♀️💕🍂📜 ♣️❤️♠️♦️
============ sponsor
KelDel Creations
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090364412851
Kelly brings a warm spirit and a wonderful collection of handmade pieces to the craft fair. Her booth is a wonderful place to slow down and enjoy the artistry of someone who cares deeply about her craft. You’ll find items that feel both beautifully made and thoughtfully designed. People often stop by just to admire her attention to detail.
Whether you need a gift or want to treat yourself, her work offers something meaningful. She welcomes you to browse freely and enjoy the creative atmosphere. Kelly looks forward to meeting you.
3-15-2026 Psychic, Oddities and Steampunk Expo at Ocean Beach Park, New London, Ct.
============
• Thank you for stopping by!
Thank you for stopping in before heading back out to the winter roads. The cold asks a lot, but small comforts answer well. ☕ Hot black coffee stands ready, no questions asked. The firepit glows with patient reassurance. Hot soup reminds us that simple things endure. I’m glad you were here.
• Please write a comment. You could, if you dare, ask me a question. If I like it, I'll publish it right here in Miller's Mysteries Blog!
[send to mindmyst@yahoo.com]
Until next Thursday,
Happy February!!!
Joe Miller ❄️🌲️ 🌲️
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