Brrrr. The thermometer on the deck registered minus 26 this morning when we sat down for breakfast. Even though the sun was out, I had no illusions about how frigid it was outside. For most of the night, I’d bolt awake when the wooden rafters or some the physical element of the house cracked like a rifle shot, contracting in the cold. At some point it sounded as if someone was stomping on the roof, but the only creatures above our heads are the audacious mice who refuse to die off, despite the trays and trays of warfarin we deposit for them. Day three. I slept all right. Caved last night around 9 o’clock and microwave popped some raw popcorn, added a tablespoon of…

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