It was 7 degrees F when I got up this morning and let my dogs out in the yard. I had to bundle up in my barn coat and hat to go outside as well because 7 degrees is just too cold to leave dogs out on their own. Paws could freeze. Great sadness would ensue.

A large patch of my wooden deck shimmered with black ice, sprinkled in frosty crystal patterns—my reward for braving the cold. It reminded me of beauty and danger, which made me happy for reasons I can’t quite explain. I even wrote a little nothing of a poem about it.

Back inside, coffee and a book to read – no, actually, first there was work to finish up before my three-day weekend could begin properly. Thus, the real start to my day: two productive hours, a couple of articles polished up, projects moved along, and then the day was mine (and maybe the weekend, too; one lives in hope).

The husband had promised fresh-baked cinnamon rolls for our Friday morning, and he was true to his word. Gooey and warm, they came out of the oven just in time for me to enjoy two (two!) before having to leave the house. I had one appointment to attend, and then hubby and I headed off for an afternoon of thrifting and antiquing. We had recently wandered past a new-to-us thrift store, and my Friday afternoon off was the excuse we needed to check it out. The lovely little wooden cabinet in the window, alas, was not yet priced and available for sale. Still we found a few small trinkets that wanted to go home with us, and so we agreed they could.

After starting on our way home, we parked on the spur of the moment to walk into a nearby antique mall—for no other reason than it was there, and so were we. Oh, the treasures we passed up! (The weaker among you could not have resisted.) A couple of straw porkpie hats called out to me, but didn’t quite do the job on my head. Several brooches and similar adornments almost came home to decorate other hats—almost. Ultimately, we settled on a few vintage cards that will be this year’s Valentine’s, and a like-new Zippo lighter for my husband. We headed to the counter, paid, bundled back up against the cold, and then…

…We discovered a back room we’d missed on our first pass through the mall. Hats and gloves came off, coats were unzipped and unsnapped, and off we went. That’s when it got really good.

I resisted—somehow—the vintage Barbie doll carrying cases, which would have made great purses for a friend. We were charmed, but not tempted, by the shelving unit filled to the gills with bride-and-groom cake toppers. Perhaps most astonishingly, we did not buy ourselves the Valentine that we hadn’t until then known every couple needs—something called the “His and Hers Blowing Kit,” complete with his-and-hers nudity on the box. Tasteful and charming.

Bypassing all these treasures, what was it that I could not resist? The classic “Spill and Spell” game I grew up with, complete with letter dice and plastic shaking cup. It was Boggle before Boggle was invented. (I looked it up; Spill and Spell came first. Truth.) You know you want it, but it’s mine, and you will have to come to my house to play with it. You will be welcome.