
(My dad in the snow, sometime in the 1940s.)
Winter has arrived in earnest. The snow, like a snowy quilt, covers the snow-covered landscape like a quilt of snow. And it’s cold as… cold as a quilt is not. I note this for the record; I’m not sure what else to say about it. I knew about winter when I enlisted. Could have stayed in Florida if I’d wanted to take the coward’s way out.
I should spend more time being grateful. Unlike my dad long since, I don’t have to go out twice a day to milk cows, and throw hay down from the loft, and shovel manure out of the barn. If I get really sick, I’ll be able to just call in and tell the folks, “Carry on—somehow—without me.” I won’t have to drag myself out of bed, wrap up in three layers, and do the danged chores anyway, finding something to lean on when I get lightheaded, because you can’t let the animals starve.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Hannukah (or Channukah). Best wishes to our Jewish friends (or friend).
Aitchmark sent me this link to a review from The Wall Street Journal, of the book Last Exit to Utopia, written by, of all things, a Frenchman. Looks excellent.
Have a good weekend. Stay warm. Or cold, if you prefer.
