Golden

Quite inexplicably, the month of January turned out to be golden.

There were windfalls and pratfalls, and good family and friend time. Two dozen ping pong balls are providing endless hours of skullduggery entertainment at The Chambers of Horror my place of employment (more on that later), and a wallpaper-less dining room wall awaits a new coat of paint at the Nine-One-Four. The Bulldogs continue their winning ways -- sometimes by the hair on their chinny-chin-chins. And we damn near made it to February without any appreciable crap snow -- well, until Tuesday when we got the requisite dump that will now freeze and fester and be with us till mid-July.

Thanks, George Takei. My sentiments exactly.

But, you know, I really don't give a rip. Because I leave for Maui in 29 days. But who's counting? And that's golden, too.

Let me give you one little glimpse into how I define golden these days.

See these gloves? I love me these gloves. They are my dog-walking gloves. I've easily had them for at least 15 years -- maybe more. They've weathered frigid football games and soccer matches and countless early morning, below-freezing walks at Comstock Park. Though well-worn, they remain largely impervious to snow and ice. And when not protecting my dainty digits from the delights of winter, they safely reside in the pockets of my trusty dog-walking jacket, Fat Bastard.

Until Thursday morning when I reached into said pockets and found only one glove.

Damn. Must have dropped it in the garage when I was brushing five inches of snow off Ben, the dog.

Nope. No glove. Not even after my date scoured the place. I had lost one of my precious gloves -- probably, as it now occurred to me, during one of the 80 bazillion times I stopped to pick snow out Ben's paws on Wednesday morning's walk.

The world dimmed just a tiny bit.

But here's when golden comes in.

Wearing a pilfered pair of my date's winter gloves, Ben and I headed up to the park yesterday morning. Passing by the neighbor's house across the street, I spotted a single, black digit peeking up through three inches of snow -- in essence, flipping me off.

By the time I got the old boy inside, it had thankfully thawed into a
more acceptable gesture. This is, after all, family-friendly blog.

Yep. My beloved glove. Frozen solid in the bird position. And I am not talking yoga here, folks.

And that's golden, my friends.

Simply golden.

How to create a (almost) painless Winter Wonderland

January is making a lot of many a goodly share of people happy in Bermtopia.

Oh hell. A LOT of people are happy there's no boot-sucking, toe-numbing crap snow on the ground. There. I said it. You know who you are.

But we are ALL well aware of what this means without snowpack in the mountains. We are fretting about drought. My date, the fly fisherman, frets about low run-off and water quality. And although I congratulate myself on, over the years, buying perennials with tags that read "Thrives on neglect. Drought tolerant." I too fret about what this will mean for the water-hungry heirloom tomatoes (and other vegetables) who reign over When Pigs Fly Farm this summer. (Fewer plants, I think.)

Nevertheless, this snow-less January has ironically managed to keep one Bermtopian demographic happy -- the "I -want-to-slap-you-upside-the-head" infernal snow optimists whose mantra is "But it's so beautiful right after it snows."

(Really? Okay. I will grant you about 45 seconds.)

And the reason for this? Hoar frost. Yep. Hoar frost. And I'm here to give hoar frost its props: It is beautiful. And not just because its presence generally means I'm not slogging through snow up to my knees with Ben in the morning.

Read the definition, but in essence, we had a round of dank, damp foggy freezing weather about a week ago that has graced us with a spectacular collection of trees and shrubs flocked with a thick, stunning frosting of ice crystals. In the dark, waning (yes, waning!) days of January, these frosted, familiar landscapes open to the paths we take with a somber, defined welcome.

But, on sunny afternoon like today, oh my. The frosted trees in the park shimmer and call to me in a dream.

Reminding me there's no snow on the ground. There's beauty in the sky. And we're ever so closer to rounding the corner to spring.  

This week

This week kicked off with one of my favorite things -- our first snow fall. During drive time, of course.

As I sat in the parking lot otherwise known as Grand Boulevard Tuesday morning, I was able to truly appreciate a new driving phenomenon now seen commonly on the streets of Bermtopia: Making right and left turns from the far lane.

Genius.

No more pesky lane-change waits! Conserve precious turn signal energy! In the wrong lane, as your turn is looming? No worries. That's what two lanes are for!

Let's show those Mini-Coopers who's boss, once and for all!

###

We had an all-staff retreat at the Chamber of Horrors my place of work this week. One of its goals was "to deepen personal and institutional awareness and interpersonal connections. . . ."

So, of course, for two hours we sat in rows of chairs, facing a presentation screen, and deepened our personal and institutional awareness of the back of each other's heads.

Mission accomplished.

###

This week ended in the kitchen -- the kitchen at INCA after Dark, that is. Surrounded by the fixings for tapas. 

We were instructed to come up with a tapas team name so Madame l'Artiste and I hopped on Las Senoras de las Tapas (full disclosure. . . if you haven't figured out already: Neither of us was a Spanish major, thank you very much), which morphed into the Lost Senoras as the evening wore on.

Did I mention there was sangria?

Once again IAD delivered.

As my end-of-the-evening apron will atest.

Baked asparagus, leek and manchego cheese bites.
Fabulous.
This coming from someone who thinks asparagus
is the devil's spawn.

Pre-oven crab-stuffed piquillo peppers.
Served post-oven with an arugula salad dressed in
sherry vinegar and olive oil.
I think Madame l'Artiste and I swooned a little

And because I love ya. . . .

Wishing you a happy messy-apron kind of weekend!

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday

Snow? What snow?