Survival mode

My face was pressed to the window for the whole 20 minutes that it snowed yesterday afternoon—tiny flakes like dandruff that stuck around because it was cold and dry. Since it wasn’t quite enough to make a snowman with, I opted against frolicking and instead stayed inside to bake a beautiful loaf of bread (no photographic evidence: I was too eager to eat).

Today, though, was even colder—down to 19 degrees F when I left the apartment this morning. But no snow. I’ve broken out all my cold-weather gear: new sets of long underwear, the warmest hat in the store, my sturdiest jacket, a fancy Zippo hand-warmer that no longer bursts into flames. If it gets colder that this, I will have to be that kid who can’t press her arms to her body for all the layers she’s wearing.

To inject some serious warmth into our night, I’m attempting for the first time to make tortilla soup. I’ve never really had tortilla soup before, and it has occurred to me that with some stuff like this, normal stuff like gingerbread cookies and avocados and Brussel sprouts, my exposure through childhood was limited because one or both of my parents don’t like it. I wonder if this isn’t one of those things…


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