Forty below this morning.
Below what you ask? It doesn't matter at this point.
My driver-side front tire was as flat as Iowa. (Have you ever been? Despite the lack of hills, you can tell you're coming up on a pig farm miles before by the smell.)
But it was, to again paraphrase the philosopher Ice Cube, an appropriate quote at this time, a good day.
I made significant inroads in learning my new job. I proofed a fantastic special section my new colleagues put together as a preview of the American Birkebeiner -- the largest cross-country ski race in North America. They did a spectacular job and it felt good to help. I reached out to regional state senators to fend off their efforts to pull legal notices from newspapers -- what seems a now national effort.
And, here's the kicker, I have a shot at getting something I haven't had in some time: an address.
I get to look at the property Tuesday, in a region that is growing and where people have told me rental properties last on the market "three minutes."
A colleague helped me blow up the tire although we waited until it warmed up to 4 degrees. He also bought me a sandwich because I was immobile at work that was turkey cranberry on cranberry bread.
You know me and cranberries.
Forty below. Flat tire. Joints making noises like the breakfast cereal "Snap, Crackle, Pop."
Ending the day writing a column and another missive on this blog.
Enjoying a Jack Daniels Manhattan with just enough bitters.
Yeah, I'll sleep well this evening and look forward to Tuesday when the temperature is going to hit 12 degrees ABOVE zero. I might even lay out in the sun for a while.
Peace and sunshine unto you my brothers and sisters.