minus 36

Today was the coldest January 5th here on record. This morning, my daughter had to get her two kids, a cousin, and a neighbour's boy to an outdoor skating rink for skating lessons. With the wind chill, it was minus 36. But she did it. The parents who get their children through these bitters days are heroic - especially as the kids are off school now, during the worst weather imaginable, and the rigamarole just to get out the door, and then inside again - gruelling.

And then they came over here, and by the time they'd left, I was ready to fall over. Though it was wonderful. I got out my old doll's house, a Tudor manor given me when I was six by my English grandparents, that I played with and my kids played with and now my grandsons. I could not help but notice that the little people who live inside had all had their pants removed by the last group of kids. Anna hinted that it might, 30 years ago, have been her. I tried to get the pants back on but the bodies are too small.

Doll's house, making soup in the sink with the wooden vegetables, riding the Plasma car back and forth, playing the piano and drums, jumping on the sofa, snack, books, balls, trucks and cars, and by then, the house is a disaster. So out for dinner. By the time we wrestled the car seats into the taxi home, their mother was a basket case. And then Glamma got to walk home alone, clean up, sit in silence.

The cold is like being under siege, debilitating, unnerving, I just want to curl up and sleep. And drink wine and watch TV and read magazines under a blanket. Nothing is getting done. But we're alive. One more week of freedom before teaching begins. Must make use of it to do something useful. I promise. As soon as the brain kicks back in.

Have not forgotten the rest of the planet - am avidly following the release of the tell-all book about the orange blowhole. How long, O Lord?