Here are the choices. Lids. Cold weather. Gumbo. I know. It’s confusing. But I have to start somewhere, and this is the best I can offer. Yesterday I sorted a collection of lids I have for some glass storage containers. I like them more than plastic. But… And this is big. Their lids have disappeared. Or, so I thought, until I sorted out all the faux lids. God knows where they came from. Then I realized I had a fair number of appropriate lids. But… Again, this is big. Some are in disrepair. At least now I may be able to find replacements because my late wife bought a brand that sells replacements. Good for them. Good for her.

Now, for the cold weather. It’s here but having been in Colorado and New Mexico earlier this year when the weather was really cold, as in sub-zero cold, this weather feels like a poser. I may wear shorts today, just to rub it in, but anyone who knows me know I joke about the shorts in cold weather guys, as in grow up dude and wear long pants. Also, I know people who live with really cold weather, and I hardly ever hear them moaning about it. Although, as I understand it, they do wear shorts, even in really cold weather. So, maybe I’m wrong.

And now for the gumbo. I cheated. My daughter-in-law turned me on to a company called Blue Runner. They make creole foods out of Louisiana. So, I bought their seafood gumbo base. Followed their instructions and dropped in my wild caught shrimp. I even deveined it in honor of my late wife who always did that chore. I never understood why. I figured that even if it was shrimp poop it was cooked and tiny. Anyway, I have a few shrimp left over. I’m deep frying them today. Just because I have a deep-frier and a few shrimp. And that’s it from the homestead. No life affirming lessons today. Later this evening I’ll go hear a Louisiana boy sing songs, and tomorrow I’ll watch him cook a real gumbo.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale