We have finally reached true winter around these parts. Snow has fallen, in fairly impressive quantities. The logging trail has been groomed with some sled tracks, and the ice skates have hit the rink several nights in a row (FYI, Eau Claire and Bloomer rinks aren’t open yet, but COLFAX IS!).
The shed has been cleaned out enough for three of our vehicles to be jammed in at 90 degree angles to one another (only when driven by Scott, as 0.8″ is less clearance than I’m comfortable with). The trampoline has had its first cleaning, Christmas music is default on our dial, and the snowblower has already sheared its first auger pin. White Christmas, here we come.
It was 21 degrees below zero this morning. According to Weather Underground. Historically, we can lose about 2.2 degrees from their nearest listening station to our front door, so we’ll say -23.
We really need a thermometer, one that measures the actual temperature, actually here. We’ve had them (hence the 2.2-degree discrepancy knowledge), but they never last. I buy cheap, which is the beginning of the failure, and then I install cheaper, completing the circle of mistrust. One loose screw is no match for the winds of western Wisconsin, and every thermometer to date has met with a howling and shattered end beneath a snowbank. Maybe this year Santa will bring us a nicer model, and then install it right.
It doesn’t matter. It was cold. It is cold.
We ditched out on the very idea of church this blustery morning, unwilling to venture out into that kind of two-hour torture in our heat-free vehicle. Besides, when all your wheels reach a certain age, you play it safe when it comes to hypothermia.
The kids slept in. I may have slept in. Books were read. Christmas gifts and projects were tackled and conquered. Some Nintendo64 was rocked. Baked oatmeal was baked. The Packers won (or so I heard). And upon glancing into the game closet, I was met with the steely gaze of a game we got last Christmas, still whimpering and unplayed.
After a dry run (in which I learn the game first as to avoid endless heaving and sighing while learning a game together) the girls and I dove into Castles of Burgundy. It was a gas. It felt like a perfect combination of Settlers of Catan, 7 Wonders, and Dominion, with a little sprinkling of Five Tribes for good measure. It took a while, but every good game does the first time. I, dry run or no, lost miserably.
But the fire is still going.
Despite the gruesome fact that out bedroom has recently qualified as a tundra, it was a great day to dig in.
If only you could plan a day like this.
Basking in Grace,