wicked cold

The temperature was 38 degrees this morning when we were coming home from the grocery store. By noon it was ten degrees and now the wind has picked up so the snow is coming sideways. The poor little birds can hardly hang onto the feeder.

I tried to write a Christmas letter today but I just can't find it in me. How much do people want to know in a Christmas letter anyway? We don't travel, surgical details are not welcome in a holiday greeting, our kids haven't won any awards, and we haven't bought anything interesting (exotic pets or fancy cars, for example). People don't want to read two pages of smart ass stuff, which, if you are a reader here, you know is my inclination, so maybe I'll let it go this year.

I made two pots of soup today; a big pot of chili and Portuguese stone soup, named for the private parts of a bull that the Portuguese used to put into it. I just use kidney beans. If I were baking this year, it would have been a good day to do that. But I'm not so it wasn't.

Although I'm not baking, I told Regis I would make those peanut butter cookies with Reese's peanut butter cups in them. I'll make them on the 24th and they better be gone by the time the company goes home. I might have to portion them out because they're such a hit I'm afraid a fight will break out.

I really hate the wind. It's howling today and the dog barks constantly because he thinks someone's here. I have to go to a meeting tomorrow on the Gustavus campus. It's at the top of the hill where the wind comes from Utah. I'm debating if I should wear a hat that will keep my ears from freezing and falling off or go bare-headed so my hair looks respectable. You can't have both.