How nice to return to our normal daytime highs in the 20's instead of a high of 0 for several days.
The ice fishermen are scurrying around the lake making up for lost time. I guess they just drink bourbon inside when its too cold for fishing.
I'm pointing my winter reading in the direction of understanding networked behavior in an election year. I'm starting off with Linked by Albert-László Barabási from
the Howard Dean Reading List.
There is a stack of books I've bought and could be reading, but the book I am actually reading is one I picked up at a yard sale last summer called A Beginner's Guide to Constructing the Universe, the Mathematical Archetypes of Nature, Art, and Science, A Voyage from 1 to 10 by Michael S. Schneider. "The world is a mystery, but it's not a secret." It's the important book I read before going to sleep that sets my mind up for creative dreams.
Our friends Pam and Bob came over for supper the other night and I made a fish courtbouillion. I went online looking for the right recipe, not one that had been new orleans creoled up with a roux, but the simple one that I remember the Roy men in Eunice making in an iron pot over a fire on the banks of whatever bayou they had just caught the fish in. The Best Courtbouillion Recipe turned out to be based in Eunice. My sister Claudia happened to call just before we ate supper, but she denied any memory of the Eunice courtbouillion. That would be because she was swooning over the older Roy boy, Russell, I think his name was. She was not wild but she liked wild boys. To visit the Roys, we took the train from Port Allen to Eunice. Big trip. One set of Roys had a rice farm. Memories live as isolated detailed images, like the sweat dripping off Russell's father's nose as they struggled to pull a cow out of the bayou. Not much before or after, just the scene with the sweat dripping in the middle of it. And another image, the men tending the big iron pot.
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