a separate peace

The lights burn to brighten the rooms this January morning while the sun hides behind wintry clouds.

The pellet stove hums warmth into the room, and the humidifier fan hums its moisture up against the dry heat, and Spice sings merrily, making up cleaning songs from Christmas tunes as she and Nice wipe houseplant leaves.  Nice likes the job so much that she requests daily plant-cleaning privileges, and suggests that they sing to the plants, too.

Lil' Snip has abandoned his Legos for the joys of cushion fort building, busily wedging pillows against stools set against the sofa.  Sugar's task - dusting the miscellaneous glassware in the china cupboard - inspires her to converse with Spice and Nice in an imitation British accent.

The sky outside is dim; snow is in the forecast.  I hope it comes - it will bring the birds, first, and I want to see if they eat the berry and nut suet I made for them.

It might as well snow:  We have a borrowed dvd, plenty of light and music, and nowhere else we have to be.

happily snowed in

Well, sort of.  :)

My Farmer read me some dramatic headlines about tens of millions bracing for a storm in the northeast, so we planned to revel in some of our favorite indoor activities today - reading, reading, and more reading.  Preferably by the fire, and preferably uninterrupted by small fry begging for stories and games.  One can dream.

But the snow didn't come.

I had gone for groceries the night before, so the larder was stocked.  In the words of one of our children's favorite poets, Clyde Watson:

Let the fall leaves fall

And the cold snow snow

And the rain rain rain till April:

Our coats are warm

And the pantry's full

And there's cake upon the table.

But, no snow.

I took advantage of the still-clear roads and made a run to the health food store and the library, Lil' Snip happily in tow.  We made it back with our giant bags of rolled oats and stacks of books to a house smelling deliciously of granola.  Sugar, Spice, and Nice had been busy while we were gone.

Still no snow.  How were my Farmer and the children ever going to finish the igloo they'd started with last week's snow?!

We lunched on hot dogs and sauerkraut and Reese's peanut butter cup cookies (a library bake-sale find), and I finished baking the last of this year's newest addition to the cookie list:  pfeffernusse.  [baker beware:  these may not look like much, but they are dangerously delicious!!]

And still the blizzard hadn't arrived.  Oh well, we settled in and read anyway.

Finally, midday, the snow started to come.

We started a meal of comfort food - baked ham and mashed potatoes - and my Farmer lost himself by the fire, reading my library book.

The small fry mostly entertained themselves, dressing up stuffed bears, chasing each other in circles around the downstairs (which is most conveniently arranged to accommodate this impulse), coloring, and building with sofa cushions and stools.

By nightfall the snow was coming down steadily.  Sugar was devouring a book on orchestral music and its accompanying CD.  Spice was hunkered down with Louisa May Alcott's Eight Cousins.  Nice and Lil' Snip were alternately sharing the music player that Cousin R just passed on to us and getting their baths.

The candles burned, and the snow fell.

And now, supper is put away - the ham cubed for tomorrow's soup, sliced for sandwiches later this week, and some frozen for another day - the driveway is shoveled (thanks to my Farmer), the children are all tucked in bed, and the fire burns, and we are happily snowed in.

fire and ice

Four and a half hours after leaving my house, I turned into the half-mile lane we came to first eight years ago.  Three friends and I unloaded bags and boxes, ducking under the pine boughs to reach the porchlit door. I knocked.

“Come in!” she called, and in we came to warmth and cozy lamplight, rooms full of whimsy and books, steeped in love. We were home, again.

Hugs and shortquick studies of each other and we burdened the kitchen island with our treats, sustenance for a weekend away: lemon bars, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, Chex mix, almonds, dried apricots, guava paste and Maria cookies. We pulled up chairs around the gas flames and warmed our souls.

I gathered up the gifts those two long full days we spent away, arms full, and squirreled them away like nuts to lunch on through the winter of ordinary home-demands. All the long drive home, I handled them like strings of pearls, to keep their luster bright in my mind:

# 329 – hot air balloons on a grey day

# 330 – Rose's miracle armchair

# 331 – welcoming warmth of a home

# 332 – those warm wooden walls again

# 333 – sound of rain on tin, a nighttime lullaby

# 334 – heavy white flakes, so slowly descending

# 335 – brisk walk in a white bracing wind

# 336 – pulling the needle in and out, to make a bear

# 337 – our eight-year tradition

# 338 – coziness of lamplight, rocking chairs, gas fireplace

# 339 – beautiful music and the sound of turning pages

# 340 – all the house quiet in afternoon sleep

# 341 – a word fitly spoken

# 342 – the smell of soup, prepared by another's hand

# 343 – sunshine on snow: gold on white, fire on ice

# 344 – brilliant drops of liquid light on ends of twigs

# 345 – lungfuls of outdoors

# 346 – a horizon, for the health of my eyes

# 347 – keeping some thoughts to myself

# 348 – scarlet sugar maple against October sky

# 349 – clumps of snow clinging high to leaves

# 350 – morning nap in sunshine

# 351 – liquid drumbeat: melting snow meets roof

# 352 – patterns, everywhere (potential pots!)

# 353 – inspiration for a bowl

# 354 – lead-seamed glass lampshades like exotic flowers

# 355 – miles of thoughtful silence along winding creek, in flickering light, by spacious river

# 356 – flaming pink sun melting into mountain

So many gifts, pearls stringing out to the horizon ...