|my front room takes a selfie|
We played Wausau the night before and Appleton before that. It was so cold when we arrived at the Wittenberg high school (town population about 1200) that the concert was delayed until the gym where we played warmed up to 60 degrees or something.
The concert went well and I and three of my friends were to be the guest of Mr. Torvil who was, as chance would have it, a clockmaker of sorts. He also liked grog. He liked that a lot.
|Wittenberg, Wisconsin. Mr. Torvil's house is gone.|
So out the door we went and Mr. Torvil told us he didn't have much need for a car and he lived just over there anyway so we walked. His house, now gone - Google maps - is where that vacant lot is on Grand Street...you can follow the trail from the high school if you have a mind to. It was a log cabin actually and the traffic that came in from the north, well, you prayed it would stop and not slide across Grand and into the living room.
So in we tromped, all snowy and cold and his mantel place was full of lights and the rest of the room dark. He went to light the fire in the fireplace and to the wood stove and put on the grog. We were destined for sofas and floors to sleep on so there was no rush. 11pm struck and the cabin was aroar in clocks making their noises. Mr. Torvil announced there was a whole batch of grog on the stove top and he had enough excitement for the day and was going to bed.
I remember that evening fairly well; how good spirited Mr. Torvil was, the clocks, the grog, the smell of winter in a cabin setting and of course all the candles and lights for the season. At least I think I remember it. I did anyway when I looked at the selfie.