Twenty-six degrees should not count as a heat wave, but in some respects, it does. I went outside thinking how nice it would be, but to be perfectly honest, it felt worse than it has for the past few days. Maybe it is the humidity in the air, maybe it is the thought that we are supposed to be warming up more and that we are going to have a wet Christmas, at least according to my beloved meteorologists.
I honestly cannot recall having a time in December with this much snow, so much that I have to shovel to get my grill out. The other day we made a whole chicken on the grill and to do so required major work, as I really had not planned ahead. The grill was buried behind a snow pile, I had not been thinking at all when shoveling.
The grilling venture went well the other night; there is nothing better than a whole chicken, simply roasted in the center of the grill, with the coals place on the perimeter in special holders on either side of the bird.
Grilling in the winter made me think of those times when we were younger, and times were harder, and how we would so enjoy the frivolity of grilling in the winter. New Year’s Eve was pretty much a traditional grilling night back then, special steaks, a good bottle of wine (something we did not enjoy as often in those days), and good friends.
The morning is showing itself to be gray as I sit in the lower portion of my son and daughter-in-law’s house and wait for the kids to wake up so I can get them going and take them to the babysitter.
There are only a few more days until Christmas. I would hope that perhaps this Christmas might ring in with peace on earth for all.