Long winter's night

It's 5:15 p.m., and I'm in my pajamas. I'm not ill; it's just that my pajamas are fleecy and warm. It's been cold and drizzly all day—not really raining, more like a fat fog that can get you as wet as a real rain if you stay out in it long enough. I walked downtown a bit ago to have tea with Alison and Allan, and now that I'm in for the evening, getting into my pajamas seemed the perfect wardrobe choice for a cold winter's night. Plenty of things to read (my accumulated mail came with a couple of new magazines and about six catalogs, and I'm two-thirds of the way through Richard Ford's The Sportswriter, which I'll probably finish tonight), not to mention my recently acquired cable TV hookup, which may actually have a decent movie on it somewhere (or a marathon showing of Law & Order: [insert spinoff subtitle here]. And I'm pretty sure there's some wine around here. Summer will be here soon enough; right now, I'm enjoying winter.