Pulling onto Mactaggart after Quiet is the New Loud at the Longhorn, I caught a couple in my headlights, leaned up against a car, someone persuading someone else, and I'm not saying who. At the bar, Harley and Susan and I had talked about winter electricity bills, insulation, farm interns, what kind of savory sauce you can make with blueberries. Tom and James were talking about the berry farm down the street from us, how they were dealing with this late cold snap we've got, and on the way to work the next day I drove past blueberry bushes with their roots stuck in frozen puddles, both cold and flood was the misfortune this week. 

I've switched to tea in the morning, try to get most of the dishes done at night, make notes on what to do next, and put off the ironing. 

Wet Feet

The snow is long gone, but it's still work keeping feet warm around here. My acupuncturist told me my last bad migraine came in with the wind, that I must wear a hat whenever I go outside on windy days. Sure enough, the wind came back today, and a migraine with it. They aren't as frequent these days, we've got something worked out with the yin energy, a good night's sleep, and winter warmth. 

The fields are filling up with puddles today, and the drainage ditches run like rivers. Tonight is Bingo at the elementary school, the annual fundraiser that keeps the lights on in our town. Last time, everyone won, and we all filed into the hall to eat little sandwiches the Ladies Club brought, potluck-style. Peanut butter and banana on white bread, tuna fish on wheat, egg salad. Lemonade made from powder. We sat on the folding tables and benches in the gym and a real auctioneer called out the bingo numbers.  This year Lisa is coming up, and I'll put on a dress, but tights too since it's cold, and of course, a hat. 

I keep getting rid of things. I need to keep doing that. How many sweaters do you think a girl needs? Can I keep twenty? I'm determined this weekend to drag them out, toss them all on my bed, and weed ruthlessly.