Snow Ice Cream

When a proper fluffy snow, unmixed with rain or sleet, begins to fall, place a clean bowl out of doors, out of the reach of children and other animals. (I recommend the top of the car.) When the bowl is full enough, bring it inside and scoop snow into serving bowls. Try to compact the snow as little as possible. Your goal is snow clouds, not snowballs. Pour cream (half-and-half will do) over the top of each scoop of snow. Pour a little vanilla over the top, then sprinkle with sugar. (Real maple syrup, surprisingly, gives you unsatisfying sticky goo.)

Tomorrow is also a snow day.

Numfar! Cease to do the Dance of Snow!

Snow Day!

It's snowing!

Proper snow. Snow in big fluffy clumps that you catch on your tongue, making you laugh in spite of yourself. Snow that sticks to the grass and roads, so that your footsteps drag and leave a blurred trail behind you. Snow that hisses through the air, rattles the dry oak leaves above you, and patters upon the ground. Snow that makes the children's joyful faces glow brighter than Christmas.

I put on my French Foreign Legion surplus cape (truly) and walked to the corner and back.

Somebody Else's Child's Brother: "Hey, when Ellen's mom walks around in that cloak, it's like the Grim Reaper!"

And it's a new year.

Registered children for local schools that I devoutly hope they won't be attending next year. Just in case...

People keep touring our house, then buying something else in the same neighborhood. Something smaller, but with a garage. Contemplating building a Potemkin garage of leftover Christmas boxes and tissue paper.

Conversation fragment drifting across from the Nintendo room:

Somebody Else's Child: "Someone said the F-word!"

(general incomprehension and confusion.) "I didn't!" "Huh?" "What F-word?"

My daughter, lightbulb going on over her head: "Oh, you mean intercourse!"

No, nobody had said anything of the sort. Somebody Else's Child insisted that it had been whispered. Whatever.

Sunday, December 30, 2001

Whoo-hoo! Adam Felber of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me has a blog!

St. Augustine Sweet Orange Roll dough in the warm oven. I think it's rising. Shoulda heated the milk more before incorporating it into the eggs and butter. (The Parker House Rolls were tough as jerky. I think I overkneaded them. Ah, well. Next year for sure.)

Baking is nice. It perfumes the house. It gives me a feeling of peace and accomplishment. Here's hoping we all have that feeling (with or without yeast) in the coming year.