It Did It Again

Snowed overnight.  Not so much, just enough to cushion the freezing drizzle crust on everything.  I went out after sundown yesterday to get a skein of yarn to finish a project (as if I don't have enough yarn to choke an elephant) and that pizza I talked about for supper yesterday and nearly slid down the driveway.  I was so proud of myself that I'd gone out and shoveled before moving any of the vehicles, I even sprinkled some salt but evidently I didn't spread enough salt because I was nearly a statistic, or bruised and sore at the very least, but I managed to make it uphill into the garage where the salt is and I salted the bejeebers outta that slick driveway--so I didn't drop the pizza when I got home, you understand.  BTW, the pizza (Papa's Favorite from Papa Murphy's) was deelish and the wine was suitably warm and wine-ish.  You know, wine goes well with pizza.  Today, however, I intend to see how well Mexican Coca Cola goes with leftover pizza.  DS brought over a couple bottles of it for us since I was talking about how I'd heard it's so much better than US Coca Cola and they have a case of it.  He's a good kid, uh, man.

When we were at the grocery yesterday Durwood was looking at the display of Little Debbie cakes and stuff seeing what he wanted for dessert.  I looked at the prices and those things cost at least $3 a box.  That's a lot of money for something that's mostly sugar and preservatives, so I offered to make a pan of brownies.  He said he didn't want to give me something more to do (which is very nice) so I said I'd go get a box of brownie mix and doctor it up.  He agreed.  I got the dark chocolate ones and added chopped walnuts, then sprinkled part of a bag of milk chocolate chips on top.  Oh yeah, they're delicious.  Eat your heart out, Little Debbie.


When I picked up the newspaper this morning I saw that the neighbors had their Christmas tree taken down and put at the curb.  I needed a birdie tree so I went over and dragged it home.  The juncos found it first but I'm sure by the end of the day every bird in the neighborhood will have found it.  When I was digging around in the corn bin looking for some small cobs to nestle in the branches I came across this red and yellow one.  I can't bear to put it out and let those damned tree rats eat it.  I'm keeping it.  I don't know what I'll do with it but I'm keeping it.

I just looked out the window and saw the sun trying to shine through the clouds.  I thought it was kind of amazing.

January 4--Carl Fischer, Gangster.  The old man's outside looked soft, blubbery and old, but his inside looked like dull, black granite, hardened over the years until it absorbed light instead of reflecting it and his voice sounded like a rabid buzz saw.  Louie thought he was a tough guy.  He strutted around the neighborhood with a sneer on his face and his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets.  He stole cigarettes and beer from Mr. Cam's store and mocked the Chinese man's yells as he hollered down the street after Louie.  Louie was a big deal until the afternoon the black Lincoln with tinted windows blocked his way and the driver opened the door to usher him inside.  As he hesitated, a voice rasped from the dark inside.  "What's the matter, Louie?  Not feeling the big man so much now?"

I'm down to the last page of my notebook and for the life of me I can't find the blank ones I packed up so carefully before the new carpet came.  Now I'm off to Goodwill to see what I can find there.  Wish me luck.
--Barbara