Posts

Not done yet. We’re going to IKEA this weekend for the finishing touches. Boy, am I glad those curtains are finally up, sewing them almost killed me…

We’ve been staying inside during this frigid week. Warming by the fire, playing with Legos, watching shows, deep conversations, preparing meals, drilling holes…feeling quiet and buried. Snuggling in.

Beginning last summer, John and I felt a need to be really present at home and in our neighborhood. We planted a garden and hung out more with neighbors. We listened to the church bells ring through our little village and tucked into the moment. Now in the deep winter the pull of the local dovetails nicely with my cyclical, borderline agoraphobic, hermit-like desire to stay inside my house until spring. I was pleasantly surprised to read this article and discover that I am accidentally hip, timely and eco-conscious, it seems.

We had a lovely Saturday night date during a big snowstorm: sandwiches at The Blue Tusk, followed by a $5 movie at The Palace Theater. I wish I had known that The Palace doesn’t actually heat the theater in winter. I watched most of the movie sitting sideways in my seat, my stockinged feet in John’s hands and the rest of me buried deep inside my down jacket.

A cold Sunday afternoon with friends. We caught some serious air on the jumps, Jack. We sledded until dark, and then fifty percent of our family fell asleep in the car on the way home.

The Christmas cookie project took us from daylight to darkness. But we could feel those extra few post-solstice moments of light.

I spent our snowy winter solstice indoors, watching the snow fall out of the corner of my eye as I crafted last-minute gifts. All under the watchful eye of one feverish director, that is.

I hung this windsock off of our back deck months ago, on a late summer afternoon, right before a family barbecue. I couldn’t have known then how much it would brighten up a very gray day in December.

Cedar Bay Park December 1, 2008 ~2:45 PM 44°F Heavy clouds coming in; light layer of ice on the canal; the man sitting on a picnic table just over my left shoulder is smoking a cigarette and wondering why we’re there. Actually, we were looking for our first letterbox and after three previous attempts and not one stamp to show for it, we didn’t care one bit if the guy watched our every move. We found the box, stamped our guts out, noisily re-hid it and left. From the highway I spotted the smoking guy poking around the hiding place, trying to figure it all out. I guess we’re bad letterboxers.