Very Cold.

Yep. Cold, cold. The pansies are still out on the steps in their pots at the old house, and they'll have to come through this on their own. The rosemary from my cousin's wedding two years back is safely ensconced in the outbuilding here, unless it burns down overnight— an event against which I've sandbagged by bringing the novel in to the big house, and I'm this close from putting it in the freezer. Don't push me. I'm still up. I may yet wrap that thing in tinfoil.

Fire in the fireplace. Low lights on. Randy Newman on the hi-fi (and the lower-fi kitchen speakers). Already looking forward to coffee. We may, may, may have sold the other house. This is good. We could stand to just have the one at a time.

They don't want us to be above freezing again until Saturday. This is some cold, friendlies, as my friend KFW would say. This is some soup weather. Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

Randy Newman: America, America, step out into the light/You're the best dream man has ever dreamed, and may all your Christmases be white. The next cut is, of course, the excellent, excellent Baltimore. Oh, Baltimore/Man it's hard just to live. Sleep well, friends and fans of weather. Sleep warm.