As Pure As the Driven Snow

That isn't frost on the window, it's wind driven snow. Oh ja, it wuss a bad storm, ya know.

It's over now, and we're left with a crisp, windy white world - clear blue sky and glaring sunshine. The snow plow has finally liberated us. Our walks and drive have been cleared. I'm pooped, sitting in my long underwear, trying to cool down, back in the warm house after my body adjusted to the outside, shoveling and wrestling a snowblower at the 20 below zero wind chill. My body will be paying the old man aching back stiffness toll tomorrow. Age is not turning out to be a toll free road. For now it feels pleasant being a little too warm.  

Lorna's baking. She just hollered from the kitchen that she screwed up the batch she's mixing and will have to make a double batch. That's too bad, a double batch of my Grandma Nellie's sugar cookies. These are not the thick ones that are rolled into balls and flattened with a fancy jelly glass, nor the really buttery ones with sugar on top. These are the firm sugar cookies she rolls and cuts out with a pinked-edge cutter made from a canning lid just like Grandma's. You know, the sweet dunkers you can break in two, dip in strong coffee, then nibble off  the coffee softened edge. A double batch, that's a real shame.