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Wednesday, November 27, 2002

Spanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the U.S., and my wife and I will travel to my parents' house an hour and a half away to celebrate it. On hand will be my grandparents, who drove up from Alabama, and my inlaws.

Everything should go fine. I doubt I'll come to swings with my inlaws because they're better behaved out-of-town than they are on their own turf.

Cold Hands

It snowed for the first time this season last night. It didn't amount to much--a light dusting that's mostly melted now, but the temperature is still very cold.

Last week I put the down comforter on our bed. It's so warn, you'll get sweaty under it--unless you're surrounded by three cats who, like sacks of potatoes, weigh down the blankets and make it hard to cover yourself appropriately. I finally got them positioned in a way that didn't pin me down but eventually had to convince my wife to quit hogging the bed and move over. She's a sound sleeper who doesn't respond to voiced requests. But she does respond to my icy-cold hands. "Goddammit, stop that!" Then she moved.

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