169: sometimes it's about the comfort.

I know I should work on the turkey stock. I know these things. I know I have about five jars full of chicken soup I made this summer, frozen. I know I ought to eat the yogurt that's about to expire and the cantaloupe that might need to go straight to the compost, and I know that as I write this, I am putting a lot of sodium into my gullet.

But sometimes it's about feeling like a little kid: Garrison Keillor may have grown up near a half acre garden, but my parents were teachers, were busy, and though my mother's efforts at making our own baby food translated into macaroni and cheese when we were seven, I'm pretty sure the soup with stars only came out when we were sick, just like the Gatorade (which is why I cannot drink Gatorade without thinking I have the flu).

Today: no work, which means I need to take advantage of the free time to finish my holiday packages and get them to the post office. I did some last minute knitting to add to one to my grandmother, with some Rorschach looking results (good thing she's into "the thought that counts," yes?) and worked on The Big Project into the night.

Today: Ryan is home, his car is in the shop. Something about chugging, something about flickering off and then returning down the hill and into the garage's lot. Yesterday I made an appointment for my own car (180,000 miles!), and it will be going in tomorrow. I'm still reeling a little from our clutch troubles.

Speaking of troubles, our pipes indeed were frozen two days ago. The plumber managed to redo some insulation in our basement (the area our friend Jay fondly nicknamed, "The vortex of hell"--it's one of those dirt half-basements, though we do have two rooms down there, one of which is technically a bedroom and was used, but I can hardly go down there by myself), and I did some detecting and recalled that our giant bull-in-the-china-shop dog Zephyr used to be kenneled at night last winter, so we didn't have to close our bathroom door (that dope gets into everything and chews it to heck). Well, without a vent in there and being at the corner of the house, it all makes sense that this particular room is especially chilly in the mornings.

So, we leave it open now and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I'm busy with soup and packing tape. Stay warm out there! Happy Thursday: can you believe Christmas is in a week?