According to the underside of the 70s-era brown shag living-room carpet that Tom is ripping up, the name of its color is Breathless Drambuie. Clearly this must be a porn name; that rug was born to be Norma Jean Schlock.

Believe it or not, by this time next week we will have a freshly painted living room with a shiny oak floor. After two decades with Norma Jean, I can barely comprehend this amazing development.

Outside the temperature has finally risen to zero, and a thin snow is falling. Paul is on a school bus heading to the state track meet. I'll be playing music tonight at Stutzmans' Cafe. Then the violin will go into the repair shop, Paul and I will transport to New York City for a few days, Tom will urethane the magical new floor, and Breathless Drambuie will be mourned only by the dog.