Apparently, yesterday was National Drink Wine Day. Tonight being Friday, I’m making up for the missed opportunity. An organic cabernet sauvignon, in case you were wondering, although I’m partial to pinot grigio and pinot noir. If you don’t like wine, National Margarita Day is Monday.

I’ve always been the proverbial cheap date, though never a boozer. I can still count on four fingers all the times I got drunk to the point of praying to the porcelain god—unlike some of my friends (you know who you are). In college I was usually the designated driver. Half a glass of wine, cider, stout and that’s me. Hubby still has a hard time believing I’m such a light weight (the man who can drink two bottles and still stand without wavering). Fortunately, the buzz wears off pretty quickly, after which I just want to sleep. So, cheers!

Today is the national day for

• Caregivers (Yay! Particularly important during these times); the heart tree picture is for you
• Chocolate Mint (yes, please)
• Tug of War (fitting for our seat of governance)

Yesterday’s ice is now slush in many spots, and the walking is still hard going on the sidewalks. Cemeteries are lonely places on a good day. In the icy snow, even more so. And the empty birdfeeder makes me sad. I’m going to bring seed for it next time. I’ve spent so much time walking in my town’s cemetery since last March that I feel a kinship to many of the names on the headstones. Sometimes I say their names as I pass, especially of the ones long dead, the dates barely visible anymore, the stones lopsided and sinking. Do they have living relatives that remember? Some are my ancestral names, and I wonder if they’re related, although to my knowledge my people weren’t Virginians. I don’t want to be buried.