The weather people warned it could be minus-25 degrees this morning. It wasn’t close to that, but -14 was plenty cold enough.

After yet another warning from my electric company that people like me – old and with heart disease – should stay inside today, and asked everyone to check on older adults and make sure they were all right. I told Maria she wasn’t doing enough.

She laughed and went into her studio to do some work.

One friend called up and said he was answering the call to check on me, but we didn’t quite know where to take it from there – we didn’t need anything from each other – , and the conversation sputtered awkwardly. We ended up talking about books, as usual.

When I first got this message from National Grid, I wrote a somewhat snotty e-mail asking them to mind their own business. I didn’t need patronizing health care advice from my power company. Just keep the lights on.

Then one day recently, I woke up to the possibilities. How dumb of me, I thought, not to see it. Make it work for me.

I told Maria I could no longer go outside in bitter old and ice to help with the barn and animal chores. I was to stay indoors. I’m just too fragile.

I’m sorry, National Grid. You were right. I hear you.

I need to stay all day indoors and let my wife do all of the hard work. I get it. Thanks for caring about me.

Maria looked suspicious when I told her about the cautions but recovered quickly. “Did they say anything about cleaning up the dining room table or washing the dishes?”

Well, no, I said, nobody mentioned that, but still, if I’m too frail to go outside – ” I got no farther, she sneered and cast me a dirty look and clomped outside in her boots.

I did the dishes. I haven’t gotten to the table yet; I’m just too frail to work hard in the cold, or even while it’s cold outside.  The electric company says I might get frostbite.

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Carbgate. I thought it might be helpful to people if I shared my new eating habits from my advisers at the Mayo Clinic Diet Program, to which I have subscribed. Some people appreciate it.

Instead, I’m in big trouble with the Carb police on social media; there are more of them than you might think, and they are after me. And yes, they are faithful and vigilant as readers. They read my blog as if it were the Koran. This is America in 2022. Everybody’s business is everybody’s business.

This is a confession—no more hiding or denying.

My first mistake was to not mention carbs in rice noodles, which the Mayo Clinic and Maria and I like very much in my weight loss plan.

I was rebuked for not mentioning that as I bragged about my (mostly) carb-free diet. It didn’t seem necessary to me, but I ruffled the Carb police with my poor attitude and lack of remorse. I wasn’t taking them seriously.

So I read (or, as it happened, misread) the rice noodle box. I thought it said 45 carbs a box, but, as I was informed by some Carb Furies online, it says 45 carbs a serving, not a box. The Carb police pounced.

According to my latest blood test, my cholesterol is perfect, and I lost a couple of pounds in the last week. Rice noodles are okay with me and with the Mayo Clinic as well. I’m excited about it.

The sad part is I don’t know how to read labels yet. I apologize, fully and completely, and if you were on Zoom with me, you might see tears and undeniable remorse.

I hope we can move on one day and get past this.

As the scandal mushrooms, I’m trying to learn the lessons of Richard Nixon and survive. Just own up to it. I am a Carb distorter. Hiding or running away achieves nothing.

Here’s my confession, in boldface: I was wrong about the carbs; I made a mistake. I’m sorry. People sometimes say I am reluctant to admit mistakes, but here I am, opening my soul and veins to you and begging for mercy.

Increasingly, the messages from the Carb Police begin with a  patronizing”sigh” and have martyrish and a desperate kind of feel to them. Perhaps they have had enough of me. (Sadly, not).

And silly me, I didn’t think this was important or worth my time. Hubris ruins everyone but Donald Trump. I never imagined being downed by a rice noodle.

And I learn almost every day how many of my fellow citizens need something meaningful to do.  Social media is their friend. Or maybe the Retired English teachers, who have mostly given up on getting my grammar right after years of desperate and pleading messages, have switched to food.

Computers are supposed to make life easier and give us more time. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Time, I’ve learned, is only as good as how people use it.

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Anyway, and despite Carbgate, I had another good start to the day, food-wise. I had what the clinic calls an “ABC toast” breakfast (Maria made herself a very healthy egg wrap, she does not need to lose weight and stick to my program). Lunch is a turkey and avocado wrap with some vegetables, of course.

Breakfast was a piece of fitness toast, whole grain, with 3 tsp of almond butter. Then, low-fat cottage cheese (half a cup), one 6″ inch sliced banana, and some ground Cinnamon (half a teaspoon full.)

It was, as most of the food has been, surprisingly delicious. I am just stunned by how good this food is and how much I enjoy buying it, cooking it, and eating it.

It is not a chore or drag, or burden. It’s an awakening to the variety and taste of real, good food. They haven’t figured out how to ruin the taste of vegetables yet; I better hurry.

There was no mention of carbs, and I dare not speculate. All I know is that about 18 lbs are less of me than there was a few months ago.

I’ll soon have blue eyes,  blonde hair, and lots of muscles at this rate. Watch out, Maria (she doesn’t seem worried.)

In addition to upsetting the Carb police, I defied the electric company and drove to the post office to pick up my mail and the pharmacy to get my medicine.

There was a bunch of mail from all over the country, the first one I read was from Paula, who lives in Missouri.

“Dear Maria and Jon,”

Enclosed are checks to put towards your blogs and a third check to use as Jon sees fit, whether for the Mansion residents or the refugee families.

Jon, like E.B. White, you are not only a beautiful writer but a delightful humorist. I do not know how many times the classic “tears of mirth” have welled in my eyes upon reading your work.

Like you both, I, too, have had to work at reshaping the holiday season. I now have a tradition to re-read “The Secon Chance Dog, A Love Story.” It is your beautiful love story, a suspense tale (will he win Frieda’s trust, and thus, win his Maria’s?), and, triumphantly, a holiday story with a happy ending.

The scene when the snowstorm blows open the studio door, and you hear Frieda howling, and you know, Frieda does not want to be there anymore; she wants to be part of the family. Well, that is one gusher, every time. It is one of the most moving moments I’ve ever read in literature.

Thank you again for all the good you both do. Learning about Amish society and seeing the sewing classes take hold has been exciting. Those kids are so beautiful inside and out. Thank you, too, Sue Silverstein, for your good, dedicated heart. You are gold alchemy.”

P.S. Maria, I look at your art – the quilts, potholders, wall hangings, nature videos and shake my head in wonder. How did she do that? Well,  you are an artist, and artists are visual. Duh! Yes, we need our artists and creatives to help civilization stay, well, civilized.”

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And in the same batch, a message from Joydawn of Washington State, who wrote:

“God bless your writing, your photography, your Mansion visits, your Magin High School Activities, Your moving marriage, your beloved animals. Your blog has been a great source of encouragement for me. I especially appreciate your sharing your spiritual journey.”

Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Thanks, Paula and Joydawn, I needed that, and appreciate it very much.