Finally, finally able to travel by car.
The trick, I've learned, is to get your car wheels
in the grooves on the road, except my car, an 11-year-old
Mazda, rides a little low, and the undercarriage
scrapes the blizzard-buildup between the grooves.
An ungodly racket, as if the bowels of the car
were (are) being gouged out. And we live in a
temperate rain forest. Ha.
I'm enjoying a Kir: white wine, creme de cassis,
a lemon twist. The Fouilly Poussé (which I like to call
"fussy pussy") was a bit sour, thus the rescuing elements
of liqueur and rind.
We went to see Seven Pounds today -- it's okay,
emotionally manipulative, lethargically paced.
My favorite movie of the year is A Christmas Tale, reviewed here
by Citizen K. (I don't do movie reviews.)
Twenty-nine people here tomorrow for a party,
all related to me. Nieces and nephews and brothers-in-law
and great-nieces and great-nephews and a step-niece
and a step-nephew-in-law and two step-great-nephews,
and, oh yes, sisters, many sisters.
I received two books on the art of book-making
for Christmas. Is this a hint? I've already delved
into the elementary first steps of this fading art form,
and it's great fun. The goal is to combine
poetry/collage/line-drawings. We'll see. I'm optimistic.