We survived the cold spell.
The rabbit-room water is still frozen, either in the wall or the crawlspace. And the hot water in the house is acting weird – low volume and only warm. Not sure what the deal is. Possibly related is the refusal of the washer to agitate or drain. It'll warm up and we'll figure it out. Like Scarlett O'Hara, I'll think about it tomorrow.
Our handsome grandson is back from California, just in time for the cold spell. He's come down with bronchitis from the flight. It's good to have him home. I wonder what dorky grandma-made thing he's getting for Christmas. Hmmm.
C. is out chopping wood. I am inside, keeping the fire going, sitting on my butt. Who is smarter?
I've got the usual Jango.com blues station playing Sonny Landreth (those are two words I would say to Eric Clapton). I always turn it up for Congo Square. He uses all 10 fingers and a slide on his guitar, has a forever-young voice and a Zydeco-soaked approach to the blues. Like nothing I've ever heard. Also crank it up when Leslie West's Stormy Monday comes on. And Rita's Gone, by Delbert McClintock, which is an absolutely perfect, mournful, Marty Robbins-type song, funny as hell. And Angel from Montgomery, by Bonnie Raitt (I am an old woman, named after my mother... I really am.)
OK, I'm off to do something. Wonder what?