Antidotes for the cold

I had a meeting in St. Paul this morning. That's the only "must attend" on my calendar this week. As of now, my plans are to stay in, keep warm and get organized, and maybe do some writing but not go out at all, except for walking the dogs. Oops! Sigh! I truly feel sorry for them when it gets this cold. Each keeps trying to figure out how to take care of business with all four feet off the ground. It looks funny but doesn't work at all well.

artisan bread recipes, baking cloche and bread

Photo by J. Harrington

On a warmer note, while out today I picked up some cheddar cheese I need for a Vermont cheddar bread recipe. Over the weekend I was looking for something different to try in the Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day book I've been using for years. The recipe and process are close enough to what I've been doing with some success that the odds are I might be able to get away with this variation. Stay tuned.

Did you get see last night's full moon? I was fortunate enough to have my kind, caring and considerate Daughter Person give me a "heads up" while the moon was just starting to rise. I grabbed my camera, put on a coat, froze my fingers, and was lucky enough to have several of the pictures came out reasonably well. Here's a sample. At this time of year, the moon or the sun can warm our hearts, but neither can warm our hands.

January full moon (Anishnaabe: great spirits moon, gichi-manidoo-giizis)

Photo by J. Harrington

Night Images

By Robert Fitzgerald 

Late in the cold night wakened, and heard wind,   

And lay with eyes closed and silent, knowing   

These words how bodiless they are, this darkness   

Empty under my roof and the panes rattling   

Roughed by wind. And so lay and imagined   

Somewhere far off black seas heavy-shouldered   

Plunging on sand and the ebb off-streaming and   

Thunder forever. So lying bethought me, friend,   

What traffic ghouls have, or this be legend,   

In low inland hollows of the earth, under

Shade of moon, the night moaning, and bitter frost;   

And feared the riches of my bones, long given   

Into this earth, should tumble to their hands.   

No girl or ghost beside me, and I lonely,   

Remembering gardens, lilac scent, or twilight   

Descending late in summer on that town,   

I lay and found my years departed from me,   

And feared the cold bed and the wind, absurdly   

Alone with silence and the trick of tears.

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