Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Friday, the 8th day of January in 2010

It’s still very cold here – unusual winter.
How cold is it?
The Colorado River has frozen over in many places.
I have worn long underwear every day since Thanksgiving.
We can’t sleep with the window open – not even a crack.
So cold that our metal garbage dumpster froze closed.

(Making snow ice cream with maple syrup and pecans is still easy.
Scoop up a bowl of snow, pour on the syrup and pecans, leave it outside on the porch for 15 minutes and you’ve go frozen dessert.)

So cold that the winter birds at the feeder are so fluffed up and hunkered down that the look like exotic tennis balls with a beak on one side and a folded fan on the other.
So cold that all civil conversation revolves around it: “Cold over at your place last night?” etc.
So cold that every time I’m in town my older friends can’t stop talking about how it was in the olden days when the river froze so solid for so far that horse drawn sleds were used on it to move equipment and supplies.
And the snow was so deep that bridges had to be built to cross Main Street.
It’s not that snowy or cold. Yet.
And it’s not the Arctic. Yet.
And I’ve thrived – three new books pretty well wrapped up.
Warm brain, cold body.

But by this time next week I will have returned to Seattle.
Where the grim grey duvet of rainclouds will define daily life.
And 45 degrees with rain will seem balmy compared to winter here.
I’ll be back here on the web in a week.
Meanwhile . . .

POSSIBILITIES

In town on Monday to get my Ford Subdivision serviced, I was on foot, hustling along through town toward hot chocolate, when a friend stopped and offered me a ride.

In the passenger seat of her car was a heavy-duty fly swatter, which I picked up in order to sit down.

“What’s with the fly swatter? Not many flies around this time of year.”

“I got two adolescent kids, and when they’re strapped down in the back seat for too long they start bickering and picking on each other.”

“Yes?”

“And I can hit them both from up here with the fly swatter if I have to.”

“Have you actually hit them?”

“No.
Not yet.
But I could.
And I might.
The possibility focuses their minds.”

No, not yet, but I could and I might.
Possibility focuses the mind and greases the wheels of the future.

That’s where I am as I hit the road for Seattle and the year ahead.
Lot’s of good possibilities.
I could.
And I might . . .