A Winter Toast

So much great stuff happened this winter, and I forgot it all. But let me think. There was a lot of walking, and driving. Fires against the cold. Twinkle lights against the darkness. Scenes where the snow blew vapor over the road and froze the pavement into a sheet of ice. Traveling around with my man and dog was my one and only true wish come true.

Fun fact: On New Year’s Eve Eve Mark and Jedda and I slept over in the 8 X 12” shed we (he) built on a plot of land in central Oregon. Outside it was 19 degrees. The trees creaked and grew. It was my first overnighter in the shedquarters, and without being glamorous, it was cozy beyond all reasonable belief.

I had brought DVDs and a laptop so we could cruise through some oldtimey movies, but my work laptop doesn’t have a disc drive? First world problems. It was a blessing, however. Because instead of gazing at the screen’s glow, we gathered around and listened to the Moth Radio hour. Drank camp-cups of wine. Stared into the propane heater it like it was a bonfire. To one of those Moth stories, I may have even cried. And throughout it all, I crept outside into the killer cold many times in order to pee, which is always my favorite opportunity to look up at the stars.

Been reading: Warlight by Michael Ondjaate. I love inhaling his enigmatic stories about love and family set stylishly amidst WWII.

Been listening: The new Eric Bachman, the new Sharon Van Etten, the new Jeff Tweedy.

Been watching: Russian Doll, on Netflix. I’m only 3 episodes in. I don’t know what it’s about. It’s feeling a little pop-culture existential to me.