Feeling slightly bogged down by an ever growing list of 'things to do', I started compiling a different sort of list. It skims the surface of the things I'd like to do in life. I can add as many things as I'd like, and there is no pressure whatsoever to accomplish any of them. Just imagining the possibilities makes them real.


To Do:

learn two new tricks with my jump rope this winter
learn how to double dutch this summer
hover alongside of a mesa in a wing suit
set up a bungee cord in the backyard to practice aerial dancing
test out the latest gravity-defying boots
enjoy ski biking and snow kiting in Iceland
weave a series of 4 walls out of wool
carve a set of chess pieces
build structures out of stone
live in an outdoor shelter for a season
hunt for food with a bow and arrow
map out an audio atlas of indigenous drum rhythms
sleep deeply on a regular basis

I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so,
In whining poetry.
-John Donne

A friend and I were talking at work the other day. It was gray and bleary outside, and we were trying to uplift the mood of the afternoon. Our musings went something like this:

"I would be the first warm day in May---no, the first warm night in May---no, even better, the first warm twilight in May...""

My friend replied, "I would be a sunlit day in autumn when the leaves are in full color, and the trees are just holding onto them---and the local school burns down---an electrical fire in the middle of the night, of course no one is harmed---and everyone gets to stay home from school..."

"If I could be any memory, I would be the summer I lived in France when I was sixteen---riding my bike, wearing my favorite wool sweater, living off of chocolate and bread..."

We stood there marveling within the world of thoughts and words. Language can be such a subtle form of time travel. What a gift it is, being human.

For now, I am content to live life in a way that will yield many wonderful thoughts and adventures to access for future reverie. Pictured above is one such example. Our lovely family went to the home of another lovely family, to share food and conversation on a cold winter night. The hours passed by all too quickly; one by one the children either fell asleep on the couch, or broke out into fits of laughter or tears. Good times abound and await.

This winter has been absolutely wonderful. The gentle snowfalls have supplied a beauty to the surroundings. For a couple of days, there was a slick surface of icy snow on which to sled. There's nothing like playing out of doors in the brisk cold on a sunny day.

The middle of the winter has passed. And still, who doesn't feel like sleeping in? Sleep is a gift, along the likes of true friendship, classic jazz and clean water. Imagine a society that placed high importance around the enjoyment of a daily nap.

Arriving home from work in the evenings is always an adventure. I work every other day, so the routine is predictable. Though, of course, with most things in life, there is also constant change. I want to relax, have a seat on the couch and enjoy a hot cup of tea. The kids welcome me home in their own loving ways: our daughter peers out from behind her book, our second child breaks his focus from the piano long enough to ask what I brought him, as our youngest happily announces that he wants to nurse, "Now, Mom, now!".

I aim to ignore the aspects of family life which are not as conducive to relaxation: dishes, small piles of paperwork, crackers on the carpet. Sometimes I forget that people without children still have to wash dishes, clean their homes and do the laundry.

The other evening I received a most welcome surprise. As usual, I was home at dinnertime and I wanted to be fed. If I don't prep something ahead of time or get creative with the slow cooker, my work is cut out for me in the kitchen. My husband was setting bowls out onto the table, and soon thereafter came the soup spoons on top of cloth napkins.

"I made some lentils."
"Oh, thank you so much."

It was that easy. I didn't even have to ask. The salt, the pepper, the olive oil and glass of water were all there waiting for me. I sat down in my usual seat, and I didn't get up until I was done.

Why do I love the cold of winter?

There is a certain isolation that the winter's chill brings on. There is a silence and a stillness outside this time of year. I think of the cold weather as something to embrace. I am refreshed by its sharpness, and I am up for the challenge of maintaining a comfortable warmth. It brings a lightness to my insides, and a smile upon my face.



Good Hours

I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve.

---Robert Frost

After twelve years of living with a wood stove, I am now skilled in the art of making a fire. The bed of coals pictured above is the result of tending the fire all day. Every half hour or so I check in with it, open up the door and see what the situation calls for. Maybe the coals need to be raked in closer to the front, or perhaps another piece of wood is needed to burn with the one already inside. It is interesting to watch how the flames travel upwards, almost the exact opposite of water, which falls, and always finds the lowest places in any given situation (that I am aware of...I'll keep my mind open for a correction on that).

Gathering, chopping, stacking and carrying the wood is no easy task. The wood stove cannot be compared to having constant needs, like that of a child. It is more like a trusted friend, a devoted companion. It asks for a mutual exchange: seasoned wood, fresh air, and a bit of maintenance. Though in return, it gives a warmth like nothing else.

The persimmons were incredibly delicious this year. With the frost, the fruit softened inside, and became slightly more sweet. When most trees are bare of their leaves, this tree and its fruit welcome the sturdy cold of late autumn and winter.