Just Munificent
A leisurely view of Mt. Alice. Looking down a desolate street near “downtown” Seward. A stone’s throw from our Nest down the beach.
Munificent, innit?
Clicking it makes it even more munificent. Although “more munificent” sounds redundant. Or at least piling on. If you’re already larger or more generous than normal, saying you’re more larger is just heaping on praise. That can too easily segue into gloating. And if you said most munificent, well, that doesn’t make any sense at all. It’s like somebody claiming, Look here — I found the largest integer! Uh huh, sure, until I add one to it. So more munificent? Okay, sure, but never most munificent.
With one exception: The latte I created for Happy Wife the other morning. It truly was most munificent.
Eggnog infused and nutmeg dusted and everything. We have this quirky ritual, Happy Wife & I do, where I am supposed to name each of my works of latte art. Can’t recall what I named this one. Although I remember she found it amusing.
Coldest day of the year so far. Big whoop, right? It’s only 1/5. Nothing like the cold the Midwest is getting, though. We’re still above zero in most of Anchorage but compared to the mild winter temperatures we’ve been having (30s), 3 feels punitive. Like being scolded to sit still and quiet on a hard church pew during a too-long sermon forced to wear pleated pants that are too small for you and riding up your butt on a glorious Sunday morning in July when all you really want to do is go outside and run and play. That kind of punitive.
Evidently, Harry could care less that it’s only 3o outside. Anymore he lays out there for an hour or longer to the point where Happy Wife gets concerned he’s going to get hypothermia and won’t even be aware of it because of his cognitive decline. She has a point. I mean, it’s nothing at all for an Alaskan Husky to stay outside 24/7 when it’s well below zero. My brother-in-law has a dozen or more sled dogs that he and his wife care for in Fairbanks. Once when we visited them I noted that when the temperature was a mere -20o, some of the dogs pulled the straw from inside their dog houses outside onto the frozen snow because it was “too warm” to sleep inside. But Harry is an Airedale. I’ve had five in my life, and while in my experience they’re good to about 10 above, any colder than that and they’re typically clawing at the door to come in. Not Harry. Not lately anyway. We have to tell him to come in for his own good. He’ll gets up and slowly amble toward the door, looking as rickety as the Tin Man in need of oil.