Bottomed Out

More or less as planned. I had a nap, TR called at midnight, so I got up for another couple of hours, stoked the stove and put on the last of my gnarly night logs, took another nap and just caught the fire again this morning. It did get to fifteen below, then just before noon, finally, one degree above. I suited up, swept the new snow off the back porch, and it was way too cold to be outside. This weather saps all of my energy. Clear for a little while this morning, snow clouds building in the afternoon. Another Winter Storm Watch through tomorrow night. Woke with a terrible charley-horse in my left leg and it ended up so sore I didn't dare try the hike out to B's. The whole experience was awful, a terrible way to wake. Actually stumbled a couple of times, when I'd forget to favor it. I did walk out and get most of the snow off the Jeep, started it up after last night's cold. The extent of my labors. Rereading Harrison's essays. He's a good food writer, all of his writing is very good. I walked around in the house all day, trying to work the soreness out of my leg with some success; put away a few books, some of which required climbing the stairs. Next year I'll use nothing but the composting toilet, I'll maintain the outhouse for guests. I'll have to clean and dump the composting toilet. I need to fix the light in the bathroom, so I can read in there, when I'm using the composting toilet. I need to fix the drain in the kitchen sink, not that I could be using it now anyway. I'm melting snow for wash water, there's so much of it, and it's so clean. I need 50% more firewood which would halve my electric bill (I've used a lot of back-up heat this winter) because I'm home so much, and I want to be a little bit more comfortable. I'd let the fire go out, to dump the ashes, and realize just as it's getting dark, that I hadn't dumped the ash bucket, never remembered when I had boots on, so I have to go do that, and with all the snow, it's still quite light after six. Lovely and not as cold, 15 above has never felt so good. I do need to get out to B's, as this rationing nonsense is ridiculous. But I get a good fire going and heat my left-overs, spend an hour reading Harrison at the island. The wind picks up, with the next round of weather. The rookery has moved to a more protected space, but my three old friends still roost in the dead poplar out near the outhouse. It feels very solitary tonight, not depressive, I'm perfectly happy to kick back and read for eight hours, but I have a strong sense of being alone. I'll go on the record here and say it, roasted sweet potato chunks, with red sweet pepper chunks, and rounds of Chorizo is incredibly delicious. You eat it right out of the skillet and dip everything in the Chorizo fat. I talked with Linda, which is always a treat, about the threads in my writing, and she recommended that I look at just the work since I left the museum; when I became so much more solitary. I'd had the same thought. I find it reads pretty well, and there are a lot of threads, only a few of which are ever explained. When I turn on the radio, to see what day it is, it's a Miles Davis set, where he leaves out almost everything. It's beautiful. I have a picture of him, tacked to the wall, and I look at it almost every day. You don't explain, you just play.