Muddy Slog

Got to work on time, though my shoes were caked with mud. Fifty degrees today and I knew the frost would be coming out of the driveway. Still, I needed supplies. Charlotte told me to leave early, so I stopped at Kroger: whiskey, juice, eggs, bread, and the makings for another ham and bean soup (which I'll undertake tomorrow, on a hot-plate, because it's supposed to be sixty degrees) to last me for the three days I'll be on the ridge. I need to do my laundry, but that can wait. The walk in, with a heavy pack, through the mud, was as bad as expected. A heavy pack, and carrying a bag, with the eggs and bread, in my off hand, and my mop-handle walking stick. I'd heavily waterproofed my work-boots, so when I got to the top of the hill, I cleaned them in a puddle and stamped around in the leaves. I'd picked up sushi for dinner, so I didn't have to worry about cooking tonight. I need to work in the woodshed this weekend, because it's supposed to get cold again, Monday night. I need to clean out the fridge, left-overs from when the girls were here. I need to boil the sauce, while I have some surplus pork fat (from the ham trimmings) and put it to bed, confit sauce. Doing that will provide me with enough cracklings for an absolutely killer pone of corn bread, which will go nicely with the bean soup. If the power goes out, which I expect (they're calling for four inches of rain and high winds), I'll start a fire in the cook stove and open windows to the leeward. The important fact is that I'm on the ridge and not in town; and I can stay here now; without any pressing concerns. If I can get to town, fine; if I can't, fine. I have some painting to do, and two shows to install at the beginning of February. I'll be there for that. You can count on me. In the interregnum, I suppose, there could be some confusion. Should we be more Conservative or more Liberal?