The Nose Knows

The neighborhood dog walk has been spectacular the past couple of days, thanks to yesterday's new snow. I sometimes fight the urge to rub my face in it. (Rob has been known to oblige, although we haven't had a good snow fight in years.) Fortunately, I can live vacariously through my dog, who reminds us that snow hides many treasures, from questing voles to frosty bear poop. All you need is a questing and frost-resistant nose. (The photo's by my friend Lisa, who gets extra points for remembering her camera, which I never, never do.)

The Christmas season is upon us with a vengeance. Last night, I attended the second annual one-man performance of A Christmas Carol by Tim Pugliese and the New Surry Theatre. It was, if anything, even better than last year, mostly because of new lighting and sound effects. The arrival of Marley's ghost was actually scary. (Amazing what green light and clanking chains will do to your nerve endings.)

Tonight there's a Messiah sing-along in Blue Hill, during which I will pretend to sing soprano even though I stopped being an actual soprano years ago. (Thank you, tobacco. Which, I quickly note, I stopped smoking about twenty years ago. Still, the gratitude lingers.) Tomorrow afternoon there's the annual carol sing at the Rockbound Chapel here in Brooklin. Tomorrow night, Alice and John's annual do, which usually features 150,000 varieties of appetizers and cookies. Tuesday, solstice party at Kim and Tom's, which will feature a bonfire.

And Monday I trek to Happytown Farm in Orland to pick up a 23-pound turkey. Christmas dinner will be for sixteen this year. And may I just say, ohmuhgod.