Enter, the Mouse

Winter enfolds us. We have stopped resisting the ices, the frozen wood stacks, foggy night driving, snows, of all descriptions.

We carry gloves with us. We glory in the warm days. We have adjusted.

All winter systems are in place, including assessing road conditions by how slick the porch is, gazing at the thermometer in a vaguely competitive manner, wondering who, among your friends is the coldest. Who has to work the hardest to be warm becomes winter's odd emblem of the pioneer spirit.

On cold mornings we have the fire built and water on to boil before we realize we've left the bed.

Fuzzy hats are collected in a box and all the gloves and mittens accumulated over the years have been accounted for, pairs, sentimental singles, possible mates.

Cats have been provided with cozy, porch beds, lined with old baby blankets and knitted goods no one has the good sense to wear anymore.

On a quiet evening, if we find time to watch the sun go down, while the night sky is fitted over us with its dense, woolly cap of deep purple, we can feel it settling on us, holding us, sealing us off from the last layer of sunlight as it slips off the edge of our world and heads toward the tourists in South Seas.

This is my season. I came here because, among other reasons, I like the taste of the cold air when I sleep. I find it clean and sweet, delivering an atmosphere for dream time that is both lush and pristine, so full of imagery while the great white heart of real winter is busy incubating tulips.

I like to get out my skis and slide off the porch wearing my good wool skirt which encourages me to stay upright.

Poling and puffing, with little grace but a strong spirit, off I go to conquer the subdivision.

This year will be different. The weather is mild and we have purchased a computer. A real one, I am assured, not a dead old dinosaur such as the one we dethroned and dismantled years ago, its vital parts preserved as movie screen and otherwise large, sheet-covered useless item in the middle of things.

We are now, I suppose, actual cybernets. Nestlings with an adoptive newcomer so awestriking and dominant that a whole new region of the household is now center stage. The kitchen has disappeared while we congregate and vie for a chair and the keyboard.

It talks, sings, says awful things, laughs, crunches, applauds and accuses its devotees of savagery and mayhem. Obviously it belongs here.

It has caused us to purchase and assemble a rather dignified looking desk, an oasis of order in a riotous household.

My personal assessment so far is that it is thankfully quiet, making my penchant for night work possible, that it smells kind of appealing if you like plastic and new paint, and that it does quite amazing tricks with fluid-electric ease and grace.

It seems to amuse our widower finch, who now has lots more company and a lovely faint drone upon which to base his talky tunes.

There are times such as these, when preoccupation with some sort of wonder draws the most dedicated chef out of the home kitchen and off to other arenas. Perhaps one has already exhausted the patience of one's loved ones with canned soup and cheese sandwiches. Perhaps baked potatoes with extravagant toppings are beyond further endurance. And dear pinto beans, friend to the simple folk, just once too often lately.

At the end of a day when the outdoors has had you exercising, or the muse has been generous, or when you have worked too hard in your cubicle, or when you just want to indulge in the quickest of suppers, try Spaghetti Ajo e Ojo, Spaghetti with Garlic and Oil.

For 4 people, fill a large kettle with water, add to it a few drops of oil and bring the water to a strong boil.

While the water is heating, prepare the sauce. Place in a small heavy-bottomed pan:

1/2 C. plus 1 Tbsp. olive oil

2 tsp. minced fresh garlic

2 tsp. salt

Saute' the garlic over a very low heat, stirring frequently, until it slowly becomes a light golden hue. Turn the heat off.

Drop into the boiling water:

1# good quality spaghetti or spaghettini

Cook until tender but al dente, firm to the bite. Drain the pasta immediately and transfer to a warmed bowl, adding and tossing in, rapidly, the garlic and oil sauce. When all the pasta is coated, add:

1/4 C. chopped fresh parsley

freshly ground black pepper to taste

Serve in athletic portions, with a big green salad resplendent with olives and peppers and thinly sliced mushrooms and some good crusty bread.

Now. Less than an hour has passed and the multitudes are fed and appeased and the kitchen restored. You can go take a bath or get back to work. You are free and glad and full of garlic. There may be no better bases for inspiration than these.