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God damn it's cold. The stew, however, is extraordinary. Since the stove was going full-time, I caramelized everything. It took hours, but I was just sitting at the island reading. I had left-over juice and bits from the last roast, and had picked up a package of 'rib meat' which I assume to be the outside of a loin, still adhering to the bone, so I seared it with a coating of masa and ground peppers while I roasted root vegetables, then I mixed everything together and left it on the stove overnight. I got up once and stoked the stove with a Live Oak billet, so I cooked this stew for eight hours.If they gave awards for this kind of thing, I won. The natural sweetness and depth of flavor is amazing. It's so good I feel guilty eating it. I made another pone of cornbread, which I split and toasted, and the combination was sublime. I'm suspicious I would be so blessed, surely the wrath of god should follow. Indulgences pave the way. Buy your way to heaven. I sweep the back deck, so I won't fall on my ass, and I sense the presence of the waning moon. I'll deal with the real world later. Fifteen degrees this morning, and windy. Too awful to work outside other than a short walk to collect kindling. B stopped by, to say that if I got too uncomfortable, or the power went out, to come down to his place. I get the house warm enough to survive and heat up the stew. I have another Live Oak log for the nighttime fire. It's supposed to warm above freezing tomorrow. I could get to town, since B got in this afternoon, depends on the weather. For the rest of the winter, I'll go to town when it's possible, not when I choose. You have to think ahead. I don't need anything right now, but if I could get out tomorrow I could get back-up supplies that would see me through the next weather event. Sure, I need to split some wood, but I have to get outside, so what's the downside of that? This kind of windy driven air, heavy with humidity, I'd say there was more snow coming. It smells like carnations (Linda had asked) with no musky overtones. Musky always means rain. My great grandmother thought me that, and eerily, she was always correct. Rattlesnakes do smell like cucumbers.