The JRT is slick as a billiard ball so she doesn't like to stay out long at a time. An hour or so in, then out 5 minutes and thankfully she barks at the door to remind me to let her back in. I figure she's the best judge of how much cold she can take.
Since the UMC held a community Thanksgiving dinner tonight, I stepped almost next door for dinner. Well, I helped cook it, went over at 11 this morning to play galley slave. Luckily I got to whip potatoes with the brand new professional stand mixer. On high speed I couldn't hear the mostly friendly arguing that went on about the kitchen. It was cold walking over there, cold coming back, and neither was comparable to the temps going and coming tonight. Small price to pay for such a nice dinner, though. A little elbow grease and a 3-block round trip walk twice.
I enjoyed eating deliberately, watching people mill around, and listening to the table talk. It felt weird when one person pointed me out as the letter writer in this week's paper. Everyone seemed to have something to say about letter and writer, but none of it directly to me when I was sitting right there at the same table, smiling my best 'I don't bite' grin. Nothing they said was mean, probably not intentionally rude, and it only amused me; just the way a lot of people are around here. Raised in a barn.
Anyway, there's a big bookcase in the social hall and I found a recent addition, a 1968 book on MLK, so I scooped that up and took it home with me to re-read. I like reading the best books over again a decade or several later, knowing I'll have a different perspective.
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