Perhaps I am beginning to forget from year to year about these cold snaps that suddenly grip us for weeks. At least, it feels like weeks.
I forget when this latest one began, so focused we are on hour-by-hour survival, Bear and I. It doesn't help that Yukon calls and says he's sweating down there in St. Louis. Perhaps now is not the time to tell him that his car is dead because I forgot to plug it in to stay warm while he is away.
This morning it was -15 at my house; the dog went out for only the briefest moment then came scrambling in, shivering from every visible body part and I'm sure the non-visible ones, too. The shades are down until the sun comes up, when I can't stand the darkness anymore. There is ice on the inside of my windows, but I feel like a recluse with shades down all day; I equate darn rooms with someone in the deepest throes of depression, and during the winter in Alaska there's enough of that already from many of my neighbors. So, up they go as soon as the sun crests the mountains; somewhere between 10:30-11:00 a.m. It gives me two or three hours of light and then begins its descent westerly around 3:30.
I have a meeting downtown this afternoon, and I am not looking forward to parking. I shall pray very hard to the Parking God that someone feels compelled to leave their space as I drive up. In an ironic twist, my meeting is to discuss an all-day sled ride/outdoor picnic in March during the Iditarod Re-Start. There will be no toasty warm car with heated seats on that day.
I'm going to go warm up my coffee now and put on some long underwear. I have to go get the newspaper off the porch, and the three steps from the front door to the newspaper box are three steps too far, on this morning.
Wonder if I can put schnapps in coffee before 10 a.m.?
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