39 below zero

That's what the thermometer out the back kitchen window says. 39 below. That's Alaska cold. It's hard to get one's mind around the depth of the frigidness. Pretty hard to have an argument about global warming on a day like this. I'm really glad Glenn Beck had to cancel his stay, so we don't have to get into one of those "See? Al Gore's an idiot and don't give me science" discussions over dinner. It just ruins a visit. I mean, he's an energetic, emotional, ADD kind of guy; he can be likeable. And we'd bought all the materials he likes to use to make his charts, lots of sharpies and crayons and paste. And there's a big pile of old magazines in the corner he loves to tear through for pictures like Edward Scissorhands. It makes him happy. BUT him not being here, well ... things work out for the best. And he always brings tea for a host gift. It was cute the first time, but it gets old quick.

Have I told you yet that it's COLD?!! Richard told me "the moment you step outside you'll feel it" and I did, but it was subtler than I expected, not a grip, but a slow insidious icing from within. I walked past Richard's shuddering car on my way up to check the geese. He was idling it, trying to warm it up for a trip to the post office, but it groaned and hacked in pain - too much smoking from the looks of the intermittent puffs coming out of its exhaust pipes - and I could see the glow from its Check Engine light as I passed. Poor baby. I had some old lettuce and cabbage leaves for the geese, hoping it wouldn't harden to ice on my way. They weren't calling out like they usually do and as I got closer I could see a thin layer of ice over their coats from their dunks into the water bucket. It was hard to reconcile the chatline assurances that they would be fine, they're suited for this weather. And they did perk up with a bit of elan when I offered the grub. Shmuel's bites seemed as hardy as ever, their arguing with one another seemed as lively as ever. We'd been discussing bringing them into the garage for the night, preparing a makeshift sanctuary to give them a little break. This cold must burn up a lot of calories. But again, we're assured that their feathers keep them warm as toast points, and their feet are wrapped with tough coverings that help prevents their body heat from escaping. When a foot happens to get a little chilled, they balance on one while treating the other to a warm wrap of wing feathers. They're incredible.

I'm in the midst of a cleanse. It's something I embark on once or twice a year to detoxify my body, give it a nutritional boost, and, as an added perk, shave off a few of those pesky holiday pounds. But cleansing isn't that conducive to keeping warm in the midst of a cold snap. Even here in the kitchen I know when I've wandered to far away from the warmth of the wood stove. That sound you hear is the clack of my teeth chattering. But all's well. The carol "In the bleak midwinter" comes to mind. But I look outside to the brilliantly bright shine on the snow. The sky is this soft cerrulean, laid back, relaxed, arms behind its head, admiring the skiiers and snowmobilers that have the will to brave the chill somewhere down below. And the Eye on the Sky forecast from (is this correct?) the Fairbanks Museum??!! Oh, not Alaska. Anyway, the report on VPR says it'll get to zero today, so things are looking up. It's all just as it should be and I intend on enjoying it. The cats seem to be. They're all curled up and nestled near the fire, visions of sugarplums or fields of catnip dancing around in their little furry heads, teaching me once more the beauty in naps. Books beckon, it's the perfect day for reading. And there are plenty of projects to either embark on or continue the voyage. A little bit of poetry will be fun, writing AND reading. Possibly today would be the perfect time to pull out all the accourtrement we'd purchased for Glenn and use it instead to lay out a garden plan for Spring. Yes. And order seeds. There we go. Hope springs eternal.

Oh, before I forget, Richard has two hunks of eggs incubating, in two separate incubators. A couple dozen. Last night I had to ask him 'Am I crazy or didn't you tell me you weren't going to start hatching until March?" I hadn't been crazy, he had said that, and his rather flimsy defense was "I couldn't help myself." Hmmm? A bit compulsive and I would've appreciated a discussion about this before it happened, but there you are. Fodder for a future blog.

Stay warm, dream big.