It’s 2026 now, and we’re currently in an arctic deep freeze. Right now it’s 1 degree (wind chill of -7), but it’s been colder in the past week. And none of this is as cold as the turned shoulders in Washington or ICE in Minneapolis.
Winter’s never a joke around here, so it pays to be prepared. As our friend Spiro says about South Dakota winter, “It keeps the riffraff out” of our fine state. (Sadly, politics may have changed our “finery” some, and we may now be attracting riffraff.) We’ve been lucky weather wise—can one be “lucky” in the face of global climate change?—and have had milder winters these last couple of years. Seriously, we probably could have kayaked a couple times last winter. This year seems a “real” winter, though.
Ray is busy with his winter “lockdown” activities—archiving digital music and transferring CDs, tapes, and vinyl to digital; refining/reorganizing several notebooks of chord charts and lyrics; and practicing guitar and trombone daily (you haven’t lived until the trombone version of “Moon River” wafts through your heat ducts). He plays drums every Friday with his pals at our Little Town Watering Hole, a weekly gathering we like to call “church.” And he spent part of his pre-holiday time playing with an annual touring Christmas show, A Holiday for Fiddles.
Meanwhile, I’m off to later this week as a facilitator for two out-of-town stops in the 3rd year of the South Dakota State Poetry Society’s POETRY ON THE ROAD. I’ve been criss-crossing the state from last September till May with other SDSPS members, giving readings and holding open mics in 21 or so South Dakota communities.
My 4th poetry book, Hysterian, came out from Finishing Line Press in August, and we had a wonderful book launch at our Little Town Library, with a reading, slide show, and discussion. Three of our four kids showed up to pitch in—daughter brought her delicious baked treats, younger son videotaped, older son staffed the book sales table, and grandkids ran amok. My fifth book, Stroke Stroke, comes out in February. I’m otherwise busy with jigsaw puzzles (very meditative), knitting silly hats, and being trained by chihuahua Fiona Diane, Goddess of the Hunt (aka Fifi, aka Phoebe, aka Tyrant-osaurus Regina, aka The Boss) to heel and obey.
While we wait for Jack Blizzard to throw his next tantrum—it’s inevitable—the larder is stocked with our summer garden gifts, we’re warm, and we’re enjoying semi-hibernation. Kid visits are always a highlight, and three dogs, 12 canaries, and a 29-year-old grey parrot keep us on our toes. Yes, it may take a LOT of Advil to limber up again in the spring. Yes, we may need to renew our gym memberships to conquer the Festivity Flab. Yes, we may be hairier and muskier when the doors open again for good in April or May. But we’re hearty prairie people, and by gum, we’re just swell.
Wishing you and yours a prosperous, peaceful new year, and wishing us all sanity and justice ASAP.
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| Fiona, Pretzel, and Pedro |
