Hard to keep up with all the hungry little folks that live in my neighborhood. Suet cages and both big bird feeders refilled (which has to be some kind of a record, I just filled those), birdbaths full of hot water, crow porridge put out along with peanuts, salmon scraps, and an entire meat tart that was burnt. 

Today it's downtown to meet up with friends who are getting married in the fall and are in town to meet with an officiant. I haven't seen them in a long while so it will be nice. Then later, I'll go up to Costco - a chore I like to save for if I have a break during my work week, but I don't see any breaks on the horizon with this release going out, and I'm out of wine and more importantly, sea bass. But what I'm really looking forward to is getting home and making a big pile of squid ink pasta with pancetta and cream and cheese and maybe something green. I'm hungry this weekend. Maybe it's the cold. 

Yesterday it was so cold, I swear, I feel like I was pre-hypothermic getting back from walking Bean and Sven. My hands were so cold where my stupid, useless fingerless gloves didn't cover. It was beautiful, though. Staunton got enough snow to where all the ugly patches of grass that were starting to show from where our ten inch storm had finally melted back enough are covered up again with light, pretty powder. It was a nice snowfall, and cozy to be cooking a big meal during. Cooking makes me happy in the same simple way that working on my dumb story or feeding and watching the birds do. Like it appeals to some basic, instinctive part of me - it's so relaxing and there's no happier way for me to end the day than pouring a glass of prosecco, pulling out all my ingredients, and putting together something nice.