Last night on the radio, a thoughtful newslady explained to us what she said were “warning signs of frostbite.” This is a subject of more than theoretical interest just here and just now.

“The first sign of frostbite,” she said, “is a tingling sensation in the face or extremities.”

Oh yeah?

A tingling sensation in the face or extremities is not the first sign of frostbite for me. For me, a tingling sensation is the first sign of being outside in the winter. Even when it’s a whole lot warmer than it is right now.

The stages that follow are numbness and aching.

All these stages occur within the first thirty seconds of exposure.

God bless the U.S. Air Force, which invented the arctic snorkel parka that’s the only thing that makes it possible for me to actually leave the house between November and April.

The January Smithsonian Magazine includes an article on Norman Mailer by Lance Morrow.

Here’s a paragraph that struck me:

In Mailer’s work, one feels more in the presence of energy and virtuosity than of truth… Except for some journalistic bull’s-eyes in the reportage (riffs on politicians like Nixon and Hubert Humphrey and Eugene McCarthy), Mailer simply does not feel true. Reading some of his more strenuous cosmic exertions is a little like watching an actor onstage who picks up a suitcase that is supposedly full, but is, in fact, empty: the actor by body English tries to make the bag look heavy, as Mailer tries to make the sentences profound. But the audience knows.

I get the impression that when Morrow speaks of “truth” he’s writing about something he probably can’t define and doesn’t really believe in. But even for intellectuals, the heart knows. The heart can tell.

Tim Challies is on Moody Broadcasting’s Prime Time America this week to talk about his book, The Discipline of Spiritual Discernment.

A party of 50-some underaged drinkers tore up a summer home in Ripton, Vermont, used by poet Robert Frost, police report.

Editor of The Weekly Standard, Bill Kristol, will write op-ed columns for the NY Times.

P G Wodehouse’s Russian translations were banned by Stalin in 1929, but back in 1990 that ban was lifted and now Russian readers love his books.

“Russians need freedom and laughter very much,” she said. “They had none for so long. Wodehouse encapsulates this spirit of freedom.

“He also saves souls. His books are all about innocence and joy and purity.

“The reader is lifted into an English paradise, which many Russians believe is the best paradise of all.”

(belated referral notice for Books, Inq.)

The Literary Saloon points out a list of sometimes funny, sometimes nasty quotes from contemporary authors, that is, authors who are not dead yet.

Michael W. Smith has prepared a third Christmas album, and an article on this ends this way:

But despite his success in gospel, Smith worries he’s not doing enough to influence mainstream culture. When he was reaching the pop charts in the ’90s, he said, he loved it because he felt like he was “a light bulb in a dark room.”

“I think about it a lot. ‘What am I doing with my life, and am I doing the right thing?'” Smith says.

He pauses a moment and adds, “I do feel like the success I’ve had has given me a platform to try to let people know what’s really important in life. If you’re not feeding the poor, not looking out for the troubled kid on the block, not giving yourself away, you’ve totally missed it.”

I suspect Smith either held back a bit or made some statements which were not quoted, because giving yourself away must be a part of living out the Gospel or we will be missing it, as he says. That cup of water must be offered in the name of Christ, not the name of decency or America. It is God living among us that brings peace on earth, not simply pulling together.

Will hands off the news that author Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with a type of Alzheimers. He encourages fans to remain optimistic and plans to keep all current commitments.