Extreme

Did I mention that it's very fucking cold? Ten below last night, and a high today of five degrees, zero tonight. I didn't even think about going to work. I did go out and split a few sticks, but, with the wind, I was concerned about frostbite. It was beautiful, but the sun was so feeble. Settled in with some hot tea and read the rest of the day. A book of soup recipes, a book of essays (rereading Guy Davenport), and for my light fiction hit, a John D. MacDonald, of which I must own 15 or 20, so there's always one that I don't remember and can read again. Beans and an egg on cornbread, twice today, and maybe a third time later. I'll carry in ingredients for a soup tomorrow, but I haven't decided which one; I'm leaning toward a garbanzo bean/kale/chorizo masterpiece that I learned at a sleazy joint ,1971, Provincetown They served it as bar-food, with stale oyster crackers that had to be soaked in the broth. But a cream soup would be good, or a chowder. I'll decide when I see what's available. Went to sleep. When it's this cold I tend to nap, so I can tend the fire. After ten below, zero doesn't seem so bad. I have a piss-pot inside, one of those plastic coffee tins, Folger's Black Silk, but I actually like going outside to pee. You have to be careful with your footing, and the snow, when it's this cold, squeaks. Overcast, it's very dark, three in the morning, and it's so quiet, you can hear the world revolving. I just catch the fire in the stove, a bed of coals, and rake them forward, add a couple of small sticks, then a piece of oak, then top-load a piece of Osage Orange, and by 4:30 I'm practically dancing in the aisles. Talk about a whirling dervish. In my bathrobe, with Linda's hat and fingerless gloves, I more closely resemble a cartoon. Not that it matters. I did shave, when the house was fairly warm this afternoon, and washed my privates, but I wonder if that's enough. In the great seem of things.