I have a small cow in my front room. It sits beside my easy chair. I keep books on it.

I went to stand beside the road in the hills just south of town and watch the sky. Again.

The other evening, on the first day of the most recent cold snap, the day of our wintery mix, I woke, as I often do, in the middle of the night.

Kennels are down. Heat lamps are on. The cats are cuddled up. The cold is here, major league stuff. Low 20s.

Got up early yesterday, drove in the dark to meet my brother to play golf. We did. Ate lunch. Came home.

I plumbed and carpentered yesterday.

Lots of things running around in my head these days, some pleasant, some not so. This one is pretty ordinary and might be considered a late in life thought.

No sleeping child in the front room, no sleeping child in the guest room. It’s just me so I slept in.

Once again, I am writing from beneath a warm quilt and high-count cotton sheets.

I thought seriously about simply skipping my little morning word exercise today. There are children in the house and my writing area is temporarily a bedroom.

I’m on a roll. I’ve cooked dinner for friends two nights in a row. The kids are coming tonight. So, that means two more dinners.

I thought, going into 2022, I was going to avoid writing this sort of thing, because I really wanted to lighten the mood this year. But talk about elephants and rooms.

It’s really hard to beat a day at the cotton gin. So, I didn’t even try yesterday.

My friend Rob has worked in a cotton gin. His dad owned cotton gins. He grandfather owned cotton gins. I’m not sure how the subject came up in our conversation, but it did.

Oh me, oh my again. Went to my friends’ house last night for dinner. Thought I’d solved my Nest connectivity issue. Discovered disappointment when I arrived home and tried the proposed solution.

Oh, me, oh my. I spent most of my Saturday troubleshooting smart thermostats. It was an unequal battle. They are smarter than I am.

It’s only two datapoints, but I feel as though 2022 may be the year my party animal alter ego breaks out.

Previously, on This Mundane Life: John took down, boxed and stored the outside Christmas lights. Ladders were involved but no falls were reported.

The outside Christmas lights are down, boxed, and stored back in the attic. Score one for me.

All the leaves are brown and mostly on the ground except for the evergreens and a few of the oaks reluctant to drop their treasure. Winter is here and its cold.