The blue-grey light returned on Boxing Day, along with snow, sleet, rain, cold. I felt like I was back in central New York. I burned Nag Champa and played 80’s music in our warm kitchen. John fried cold slabs of leftover grits in the cast iron skillet, and I ate two of them with butter and my most favorite-est thing ever, Sriracha.
Pre-dawn whispers (I stuffed my head under a pillow and went back to sleep). Presents opened before the eight o’clock hour. Hot coffee from the Chemex. Sweet, soft challah French toast eaten continental style by a bad piggie. Organic, fresh-pressed juice to cut through the sweet. Beautiful music streaming through the house. ...
For the first time, my girl helped braid the challah, her small fingers gently moving the ropes and curling in ends. We used the knife as a chisel and popped chunks of Callebaut in our mouths while we worked. The challah baked up quick. We left the hot loaf to cool on a wire rack and drove to church, where I sat on the edge of my seat as our pastor hit all the high notes in O Holy Night. Once home I sat in my bent wood chair under my mother’s cable-knit afghan and stared at the lights on the tree.
Merry Christmas. xxoo
discovered while tidying the bookshelves.
After building up my courage with coffee and Ella, I spent the morning sewing a hefty curtain to replace the broken bi-fold door of our coat closet. I’d been waiting for five years to cut into this Ikea fabric, and couldn’t have used it for a better purpose, as the length of this curtain really shows off the pattern.
As predicted, the record player is getting a real workout. What is surprising–but probably should not be knowing this boy and girl of mine–is that most every selection they make is classical. I’ve raised them on a steady diet of jazz, classic rock, and cheesy 70’s love songs, but there is no denying their visceral hunger for strings, piano, brass. Mozart was his choice one afternoon this week, and the sounds of the quintet filled the first floor of our house.
Spent another three days in Portland last week. The city has become more familiar to me. I have a favorite coffee spot. I got lost slightly less frequently than I did a month ago. I barely noticed rain-soaked hair and hem. And I found a nice warm place to have dinner that feels like my dining room at home. All of these small comforts combined made the separation from my family a little more tolerable.
I rearranged the living room this weekend and made a spot for the turntable we bought two years ago. It had been about 20 years since I’d actually listened to any of my records, so I spent this afternoon with Wings, Led Zeppelin, Roxy Music, Blind Faith. I’m looking forward to digging into the Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn from my husband’s extensive LP collection.
http://youtu.be/-Wvp8b4Djiw I’m actually writing from yet another airplane, on my way to Portland. Wondering if I will see this lady again, the one who serenaded me with Bob Marley at the food trucks near the office. For the life of me I could not find a dollar in that ridiculous handmade purse of mine to pay her for her music.