blah. . .

The winter blahs are nasty.

Yesterday the wind was stronger the speed limit on “the avenue.” Lots of things got moved around. Tumble weeds were crossing the empty field behind our house like cars heading for work.

But I wasn’t working, well not for money, at least.

I’m not very good at this cooking thing, and I am not smart enough to leave it all alone. I keep trying to create dishes way over my skill level. Sometimes I win, sometimes I am like a new bride.

And this week I lost a very good friend. As the family was going through pictures for his service, I was reminded so often of the guy I knew so long ago. He was always short on public confidence, but long on good judgement.

One family member said that if he hadn’t made a “deal” for every customer he ever had, he would have died rich. They may well have been right.

Last week Miriam and I loaded my big trailer full of firewood we got from a family that is moving to another location and didn’t want to take their stash with them. We worked hard for several hours, and it felt so good.

But it is winter now, officially, and practically. Even a walk is a bit of a hard sell. Leo the Italian Greyhound has mastered the first rule of being a good pet: sleeping 20 or 21 hours a day. But he misses his walks outside. He really misses his good runs.

Spring is on the way, I hear, and granddaughter Emily has been here to visit for a few days. That is good.

But that dish of scalloped potatoes may be less than the combination of the ingredients. It may be a bust.

And I may just stay inside and pout.

It is winter, and I am blah, after all.