I forget, in the joy of summer, how the cold here in Portland follows you indoors. It doesn't just creep in through the rattly doors in our 90 year old house, or the quaint pie-hole in the kitchen. It's an inescapable cold, because it's not just around. It's inside you. All the liquid in your body has turned to slush. And this week, no fancy tights and woolen bike shirts can conquer it.
I can only make and wear shawls and hand knits. There's nothing else I can really do. Oh, and make stews that are thick with pearl barley and lentils and kale. How about you?