Winter Soups

An owl. It's dark and quiet. The stove needs attention. Two in the morning. Nestled under a blanket on the sofa, I don't want to get up, to wake completely, but I put on my robe, over long underwear, and attend my needs. Kneeling at the stove, with the firebox door open, the light of the coals illumes the room. I'm just a shadow. I go outside and sit on the back porch, a foam pad is good for this, with a drink and a smoke. Snow and sleet in the forecast, and I wouldn't mind a quick trip to town, I need to make a pot of something. I think about making a chili with lamb shanks and peppers, the marrow becoming part of the mix, beans on the side. I need some salt-pork, I need to cook a pot of beans whatever else I decide. Pinto beans are always a good choice. The longer they cook, the better they are, so I start a pot. I like to mash the beans and cook greens in that emulsion, fried salt-pork on the side. Cornbread. I could do a lamb stew, or a curry. I was in tune, today, splitting wood for tomorrow, but I was too tired to read or write. Slept well, woke sore; a skiff of snow, gone by the time I had hauled all the firewood indoors, so I made a list and went to town. Several days of questionable weather coming up and I wanted to be well stocked. The library first, and I couldn't find anything I wanted to read, so I picked up a couple of things that I'd already read and enjoyed. Escapist fiction as I have a small mountain of non-fiction to plow through. Stopped at the pub and I was the only person there, chatted with the staff, visited the kitchen, had a beer. Stopped at Kroger, where my list coincides with my transit of the store. The makings for a squash soup, a discounted flat-iron steak that will last a couple of meals, extra cream, macaroni (for mac and cheese), a couple of protein drinks on sale, a bar of decent chocolate (I buy about two of these a year), sausage and eggs, a backup bottle of whiskey at the in-house liquor store, then stopped on the way out of town and got extra tobacco and papers. Filled the gas tank on the way home, less than two bucks a gallon, then a slow drive (there was no traffic) home, and sure enough, my land tax bill in the mail. For the first time since I left the museum, I'll have to dip into my reserve fund. Land taxes, vehicle insurance, new tires and shocks; and I'm thinking about hiring B's friend, Rodney, for a day, to help me finish upgrading the floor insulation. Necessary expenses. And my friend Mac is correct, next year I'll let the state give me split dry firewood in their heating assistance program. Also I qualify for 100% health care coverage and food stamps. It seems I live on $9600 a year. Except for this month, when I had to dip into the reserve. This seems like a lot to me, enough at any rate that I can eat marrow bones and buy the occasional single malt. Poor is a relative term.