We are in a state of deep freeze right now. It is minus a gazllion degree outside. The kind of cold that slaps you across the face and leaves everyone on the street with an expression of grimacing horror. It is days like today that remind me of why I don’t bother getting a cute winter coat and stylish boots. All I want is my shapeless sleeping bag puffy coat and sturdy boots with snow tire treads to navigate along the icy sidewalks. In my attempt to fight the good fight I have the Christmas tree lights on and I am cooking up a storm. Thick pea soup spitting at me, chili bubbling on the stove and the smell of roasting vegetables are making me feel cozy and warm, at least on the inside. I am cold in our drafty house, my toes are still frozen despite thick socks and my sock monkey slippers, but I will wrap my Popsicle fingers around a warm cup and dream of floating in a hot bowl of soup for the remainder of the winter.

Yesterday was one of those wet, dreary November days that chill to the bone and make me want to curl up with a hot cup of tea and hide from the world. I briefly played with the idea of being productive but the grey skies and overall nastiness of the day made my resolve falter faster than the final leaves could fall off the trees.

I tried to do an Axl Rose impression of November Rain to entertain The Sweetie which caused him to flee the house. Left to my own devices, my thoughts again returned to hot beverages. A beverage on its own seemed so lonely and forlorn so I decided to make lemony shortbread cookies. Sunny yellow lemons added a small bit of brightness to an otherwise completely grey palette. I forced some much needed sweetness into a harsh and bitter day.

I am seeing my fake knitting group tonight.  So far we have yet to knit anything but our intentions are good and it is always a night of great food, camaraderie and future plans of crafting superstardom.

Tonight we will be meeting our friend’s new baby, eating middle eastern food and watching Spinal Tap. I am bringing peanut butter brownies, or at least the half remaining after The Sweetie and I “tested” them. I would probably be a little more smug about my tasty offering if I hadn’t stumbled across this: cupcakes topped with marzipan balls of wool. Then again, if I am not finding the time and wherewithal to knit, I can’t really expect myself to be making miniature scarves and balls of wool from marzipan, now can I?

I have a cold. I was super cocky the other day talking about how I never get a flu shot, never had one, never will get one. Being the paranoid conspiracy theorist that I am, I don’t trust the flu shot and am willing to take my chances. I should have known better than to say it out loud. That was asking for trouble. Now I am one of those awful mouth breathers and my head feels like a watermelon. I am a sniffly, coughing, vile mess.

Obviously this day was screaming for soup. I made a delicious bright yellow mulligatawny soup from a recipe I found on this delightful blog.

I painted my nails a cadaverous grey to match my mood, my pallor and my choice of movie tonight, Let The Right One In, the Swedish vampire film that is supposed to be amazing. I will languish under a blanket and feel like I am one with the undead. Hopefully the comforting soup will warm me enough that I can rise again tomorrow.

I am already feeling nostalgic for summer. The arrival of fall with its irritating crisp weather and bushels of apples does not hold any appeal for me. Apples bore me. I miss the sun beating down on my head and the intense heat that would envelop me as soon as I stepped out the door. I miss my open toe sandals. I miss berries and peaches already, although, apparently there is some new wonder strawberry that will be available at farmer’s markets until October. Eating strawberries in October is not the same as eating them outdoors in the summer, when they are attracting pesky wasps, making it a sweet and dangerous adventure.

I happen to have a basket of strawberries and some peaches on hand and remembered a recipe that I wanted to make in July when The Sweetie had forbidden me from using the stove. I went through a soup and stew making frenzy during a summer heatwave and managed to make our sauna like abode even more unbearably hot. I didn’t mind stumbling around the house covered in sweat but The Sweetie wasn’t faring as well, lying next to a fan and panting quietly.

Now that the days are cooler I will turn the oven back on. I will bake and freeze as many loaves of this summery treat as I can. Then, while everyone is raving about the crisp weather and apple pies, I will pull out my loaf, reminisce about summer, and not share a single slice with any apple eaters.

I have a hard core, lay down at the altar, chocolate worshiping friend. Naturally, her birthday called for a feast of fudge and chocolate cake.

The fudge scared me a little as it began to bubble and splatter on the stove top. It seemed to take on a life of its own. The Sweetie took a peek at the production and became frightened for me.

“Be careful,” he warned, “I seem to recall some calamity with you and boiling sugar.”

I didn’t want to remind him of the boiling sugar incident. I had attempted caramel corn and became overly excited when I poured the caramel on the popcorn. I eagerly grabbed a big handful only to have the molten clump stick to my hand and burn it. Boiling sugar is really, really hot. It was so sticky that I couldn’t shake it off, and ended up screaming and hopping around the kitchen with a gooey mass fused to my hand.

Making the chocolate cake was less dangerous and dramatic. Since my friend is a fan of horses I topped the cake with mincing plastic ponies.

Some may think that at the age of forty-one my tastes should have evolved. Rather than topping a cake with plastic horses found at a garage sale I should be baking sophisticated tortes involving fig compote and marscapone cheese topped with delicate sugared violets.

Then again, at forty-one I should be confident enough to make a chocolate cake topped with toys if I feel like it. It may not win accolades from Martha Stewart, but it was yummy and chocolatey and my friend was happy.

Besides, you never outgrow chocolate, and a girl is never too old to want a pony.