Learning to Fly

Dec28

In what might have been the last cheese sandwich of 2025, I used romaine, cheddar, mayo, mustard, hibiscus-raspberry jam, and a quick turkey salad made from Thanksgiving leftovers I had picked from the carcass and frozen for Wren. It was a big container and I found enough pickings to make a couple of meals for me.

The uncanny weather finally got wintry with a trace of snow last night, and a seasonal drop in temperature. Before the rain on Christmas, we took a startling walk through the woods. I’d hoped to walk to the rim since the mud had dried enough, but just as we turned east a neighbor across the canyon started shooting, which frightened Wren and made me turn west, taking the short loop back to the house. The mosses were vibrant, and a fall aster was in bloom. This is all wrong.

We humans are making so much progress on so many fronts that it just makes me sad to see how the species insists on escalating its rapacious slaughter of the planet and sabotage of our species. Scum does indeed rise to the top, and now that it’s followed Russia’s lead in this country and many others, the potential of power-hungry malignant narcissists to irreparably break our world with greedy extractive industries is coming to a head just at the time when medical science is on the cusp of discovering treatments for Alzheimer’s, advances in consciousness studies and the intersection between science and spirituality give real hope for finally understanding the imperative to cooperate rather than compete, and the flowering of Buddhist philosophy as a path to peace is growing loving kindness and compassion at an exponential rate.

Amy randomly sent me this recipe for sourdough discard dinner rolls, so I made them on Christmas Eve and have been enjoying them in various ways since. As soon as they came out of the oven I poured some almond butter into a little bowl, with just a hint of recurring aggravation—you can’t really call it butter if you can pour it straight from the refrigerator—and spooned some jam, and enjoyed a simple lunch.

After some very fat sandwiches that night, I sliced the rolls into club style threes to make a sandwich with havarti, lettuce and mayo on one layer, and havarti and lemony pesto a friend made. I’ve eaten them several other ways and still have a couple left, but it’s almost time to bake sourdough focaccia.

The week overflowed with baked gifts as well as abundant sunshine. Among the cookies and biscotti that arrived also came the annual Potica delivery from the next door elves. Last year I was caught taking a shark bite right out of the bag; this year I restrained myself to just sniffing.

I’ve spent part of the weekend in retreat via zoom with Tergar Meditation on Dream Practice, learning how to meditate while sleeping, and how to cultivate lucid dreaming. Some of the most blissful dreams of my life were the few in which I could fly. I used to either jump off a roof, or take a long, slow running start with strides extending longer and higher until I achieved liftoff. But it’s been decades since I could fly in a dream, despite my longing.

It’s been decades since I experienced any kind of lucid dream, until last week when I realized I was dreaming, almost woke up, made myself stay asleep. I’d signed up for this retreat weeks before that, and was pleased to learn during the talk this morning that I had just overcome one of the main obstacles to lucid dreaming: realizing you’re dreaming and immediately waking up. I’m on the right track! And it turns out, the next step after you realize you’re dreaming is to do something, almost anything, to anchor yourself in the lucid dream: taking off flying is the easiest thing to do! Far simpler than transforming a flower into a building or a person into another kind of animal, or even transforming yourself into a newt.

My favorite Christmas gift: a perfectly small bowl with a fucking grasshopper built right in, from someone who knows me too well.

I’m grateful for a week filled with kindness, connection, and compassion in my little bubble, and a week of hopeful exploration of the rich potential and beauty in the human spirit worldwide. We are not prisoners here, nor potted plants. Action is the antidote to anxiety.

The Last Solstice

Dec21
The ‘red lime’ is a cultivar which seemingly arrived on the citrus scene in 2006, and is described as possibly “a cross of Rangpur lime and a kumquat.” There’s not much more about it online. I’m grateful for this bounty that was given, and I squeezed all these to freeze juice while letting a few more ripen in the fridge. Orange appears to be the color of the day this solstice.

I’m grateful for every element of this morning’s latte and biscotti, and all the lives that contributed to this experience: coffee beans, milk, chocolate, almonds, orange zest, flour, sugar, vanilla orchid seeds, tree sap distilled into syrup, running water, tools and technology, and the last crumbs of maple sugar candy sprinkled on top with cinnamon. How many plants, animals, and human hands made this brief moment in my sunroom possible? Feeling the truth of intrabeing.

“When doing something for the last time, we almost never know that it is, in fact, the last time; and everything you will do today, pleasant and unpleasant, you will do a finite number of times. So why not give each thing your full attention?”

Sam Harris

I’ve thought a lot about this since I heard it the other day. In the same reflection, he points out that children grow up, and suddenly they’re too big to be picked up; a recent trend on Instagram shows mothers trying to lift up their teenage sons. I remember the last time I picked up Stellar as he grew from a puppy into a big dog.

I’m pretty sure this was it: he weighed about thirty pounds, and he was getting hard to lift when someone took this picture. I remember thinking, this is probably the last time I’ll pick him up. I remember the last time I made love with my ex-fiancé, and knowing it was the last time. And I know there are a million things I’ve already done for the last time and never realized it.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake today. This was definitely the last solstice of 2025, and I was going to mark the occasion by watching the sunset from the west fence. It wasn’t too dramatic when I got there, but the clouds have been exceptional recently and the fan of grey and deep blue stratocumulus (looking south, above) and altocumulus (looking north, below) quickly brightened as the earth spun away from the sun.

The color dimmed in the north and east, but deepened to the south. Soon the clouds to the west were on fire. I felt keenly the fleeting beauty, the one-timeness of this sunset, the one and only time the sky will look exactly like this. The next moment it looked different, and the next moment.

And who knows, this might be the last solstice sunset I’ll ever see, not just the last this year. All we ever have for certain is this moment, right now. It can be exhausting knowing this all the time, until with enough practice it becomes an effortless habit that enhances experience.

This is what’s meant by the phrase “Death is an ally.” When I’m aware that this could be the last time I see the sunset I really drink it in; when I remember that this is the last time I might see or speak with a friend, I can bring loving kindness into that moment and let grudges, judgements, and other distancing thoughts or feelings fade.

Everything changes, all the time. Let me remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.

Savoring Connections

Dec19

Moments of joy came throughout the week from connections with friends. Jennifer sent this marvelous photo last weekend of a redtail hawk perched on her fire escape in downtown San Francisco. I’m grateful for friendships through the years and across the country, new and old, simple and complex, in person and online. With the common ground of mindfulness and gratefulness, I’ve formed meaningful friendships with people I may never meet in person.

I had hoped to be generous with the three leftover lemon tartlets, but only managed to give away one of them. The other two I savored for breakfast last weekend. I found a little pot of leftover cream cheese frosting in the fridge, so I topped the first tart with that and the last raspberries.

The final tart cried out for a little leftover lemon curd since there was only a lonely dollop of icing left. I’ll definitely make these again.

My Colorist friend sent this gorgeous Christmas card she created. She explained that the passion flower represents “the Passion of Christ in all its beauty and terror,” with Mary “looking adoringly at and embracing the end of Jesus’s earthly life instead of the beginning” as in traditional nativity scenes this season. And of course, the sumptuous colors.

She also introduced me to the Hugo Spritz in her comment on my last post. I made mine without the prosecco using soda water only for the bubbles to give it less of a kick.

I’m grateful that grownup vitamins come in gummies too.

I sometimes wonder where the day goes, these short winter days. It seems like I get the bare minimum done and then it’s dark. One fun task each day is feeding the birds, and an especially meditative part of it is spreading the Bark Butter on various limbs and posts. Bark Butter, created by the founder of Wild Birds Unlimited, is a “spreadable suet” that includes peanut butter and corn. I put it out for the nuthatches who love it, but the jays come to devour it too.

A local friend sent this picture of an anomalous goose down in Delta with a flock of Canada geese (genus Branta). INaturalist identifies it with 100% certainty as belonging to the Grey Goose clan (genus Anser). A delightful conundrum.
This week’s sourdough, with a seasonal star.

I’m grateful for the great healthcare I receive from Delta Health, one of the many rural hospitals threatened by the Republicans’ healthcare plan which Andy Borowitz says is “Move to Canada.” I had a late afternoon appointment with my PCP for a checkup. I love her. She’s quick, thorough, listens well, trusts me with decisions, and we have had some hearty laughs, especially last week. And then the drive home from town was exquisite. I’m so rarely out of my little hollow at sunset, it was a treat.

My friends Ted and Cathey live about 80 miles north of Selma, Alabama, where the Walk for Peace monks stopped midday today, then walked across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. My whole day was infused with the joy of knowing my friends were there, carrying a little piece of my heart with them. Ted posted this and more photos on his daily blog, and will share more tomorrow.

This week of savoring friendships included some great phone conversations with friends from Florida to Virginia to Oregon, all of which also included some hearty laughter, such balm for the sorrowing soul in these dark times. Tonight’s small new moon/early Solstice gathering wrapped up this past week like a gift. The bonfire was slow to start but quick to burn, and safe in the bottom of an empty, muddy irrigation pond.

Grateful to feel safe in the bosom of my found family, I yet held in my heart the sorrow of those who lost beloved children, parents, friends, and family in mass shootings this week, to murder, to starvation, to climate catastrophes like floods and landslides, and so many more ways the ravages of human depravity manifest.

May I grow in understanding and compassion, and may my thoughts, words, and actions contribute to peace in this world. May all people grow in understanding and compassion, and may their choices contribute to peace in this world.

At the height of our ritual fire, the FedEx truck came down the driveway and a pack of dogs from three households ran barking off to greet him. He’s a great guy, we’re all grateful for Scott, and so are the dogs because he gives them treats. I whistled for Wren and she didn’t come, I got up and called and finally yelled for her, and still she didn’t come—but then I looked to the left and saw her trying to get to me through the fence—poor baby! She had probably come right away, but she came the wrong way and got stuck on the other side of the studio. I stepped through and gathered her up and held her close the rest of the evening. She’d had on her parka, but still got chilly, and has been sleeping next to me or on the heating pad ever since we got home.

Countless Connections

Dec12
Helpful little dog cleans up the ice cream box for me after lunch.

Tonight was Zoom Cooking with Amy, but we did a lot of prep ahead of time. We texted back and forth all day, first to decide what to cook and then to see how it was going. Since I had the tart shells already, she made some too, and we each blind-baked them. I lined mine with scrunched parchment paper and weighted them with dried kidney beans which will now be saved and labeled Pie Beans so I don’t try to cook them later. They baked for twenty minutes at 350℉, then I removed the paper and beans and baked them another five minutes, and let them rest on the counter.

Amy usually directs these endeavors, so she texted to tell me to mix the lemon zest with the sugar ahead of time and let it sit. The “Classic Lemon Curd Tart” recipe calls for zesting and juicing four large lemons, but I don’t think they’ve ever seen lemons this big. I zested three of them and got sloppy on the second one knowing I’d have more than enough. One and a half lemons exceeded the two-thirds cup of juice needed, but I juiced the rest and filled four silicone freezer molds with a third cup each. Then I set aside the lemon tart project to make the cracker dough.

Amy chose these Cheddar Cheese Shortbread Crackers which we mixed mostly according to instructions, but added fresh chopped chives from another recipe, and rolled the dough in seeds before chilling.

I rolled one log in poppy seeds and one in white sesame seeds. We decided later as we ate them that sprinkling a little kosher salt among the seeds would make the seasoning perfect. Then we chilled the dough until we were ready to zoom.

Between the mise en place and the actual cooking, I was grateful to zoom with a young friend I am just getting to know, though I’ve known about her for a long time. When she asked how I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, I chanced to mention my obsession with Great British Bake Off. Pema Chodron talks about the discipline of keeping your mind and heart open, always receptive to where you find yourself in the moment, in the world; and also about trusting that we “live in a rich world that’s never running out of messages.” I could have left out the mention of GBBO but it’s what feels alive for me right now so I said it. My friend said with some surprise, “Have we talked about this?”

“No,” I said. She then told me that she knows one of the contestants from this season, and went out with him just a couple of weeks ago when he was in New York. I was thrilled, and asked to hear everything he told her about being on the show. It was more stressful than he thought it would be, she said, the people were all fantastic and supportive, he made some great friends, and so on. If I hadn’t mentioned the show, we wouldn’t have had that moment of delightful connection, and I would never have seen this adorable picture of the two of them.

We also talked about grief: how there’s no wrong way or right way to grieve; the idea of titrating or pendulating, i.e., touching into the feelings and then stepping back into all the living going on, touching in then stepping back as one is able, thereby developing capacity and resilience; and, how grief can soften with time though it may never disappear. I was reminded of something beautiful that my cousin’s fiancée wrote to me recently, just over a year after he died so unexpectedly:

“For me, grief feels like it’s love turned inside out. Its heaviness gets lighter as I get stronger and time moves on…. As painful as it was to lose my love, it gives me comfort feeling that my heart is now strong enough to carry this beautiful soul within me, and I’m forever grateful.” 

Terri Mayer

Our conversation gave both of us the tender opportunity to feel closer for a moment to someone we grieve, to touch into the well of grief and maybe lift out a spoonful, or even just a drop. And then to go back into our day and our lives with a stronger link in the chain of interconnection. In no time at all I was zooming with Amy and we were whisking up lemon curd tartlets. So simple, so delicious!

While they cooked and then cooled, we sliced our cracker logs as thinly as we could, and while they baked we made a Ritini, my instantaneous variation on a martini, which used gin, elderflower liqueur, a tablespoon of leftover Meyer lemon juice (like I said, I’m gonna make the most of every bit), and a couple of raspberries.

We enjoyed a couple of sips of the cocktail before realizing that it didn’t really go with the cheesy crackers, so we poured a little red wine for the savory portion of our meal, and caught up on everything under the sun. We each baked one tray of crackers and also ate most of it they were so addictive. I’m glad there are leftover logs to slice and bake later, or even freeze for much later.

And then it was time to savor the sweetness that was days and miles and many hands in the making. I know who grew the lemons. Who grew and picked and packed and shipped the raspberries? Following back all the ingredients in the tart, all the elements in the simple setting: the plate, the glass, the gin, the liqueur, the flour, sugar, butter, eggs, the whipping cream and vanilla bean paste… I’m grateful for and to the countless connections, humans, and other beings who contributed to this perfect moment.

Baking Therapy

Dec11
From the Great British Bake Off news page, host Noel and judges Prue and Paul listen to baker Rahul describe his signature bake. Or it might be his showstopper. But it’s definitely not the technical challenge, because the judges aren’t in the tent for that one.

I don’t remember when I started watching the Great British Baking Show, but know that it became a real inspiration in 2020. My interest has only grown with each subsequent season, to the point that when this season ended (Series 16) I started rewatching the previous seasons. US availability starts with Series 5 on Netflix which is actually Season 8 in the UK where it’s called the Great British Bake Off. Not gonna try to make sense of that. There have been four pairs of hosts (at least) and two companion judges to the majordomo, the one consistent character throughout, bread legend Paul Hollywood. Like Drag Race, the show is a phenomenon with its own internal culture and even more camaraderie and less drama. Though the tension in the tent and in living rooms across continents can be equally intense as bakers come down to the wire with some showstopping creations.

They bake a lot of savory pies, which I’ve never done, and I was inspired a couple evenings ago by a pie filled with a veggie curry. I had all the ingredients and then some, so last night I threw chopped kale, garbanzo beans, and roasted butternut squash in a skillet and cooked them down a bit, then added leftover ‘risotto with kale and peas’ and stirred it all up with a good splash of Penzeys curry powder. So simple, so delicious. Tonight I whipped up a quick shortcrust in the food processor, kneaded it just enough to roll it out thin, and used a heart-shaped empanada mold to make four little hand pies.

I really don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just not afraid to take risks in the kitchen. They turned out beautifully, not a single leak or tear. Maybe I could have left the tiny dough hearts in place but I wanted to make sure the pies didn’t blow up so I pulled them off to release steam before baking at 375℉ for about thirty minutes.

I ate one for dinner, froze two for quick meals later, and saved one for tomorrow. That single bunch of kale has gone a long way, through four nights of dinner with several more to go, plus Wren got the stems for treats. It’s good to practice frugality and creative leftover cuisine these days as the cost of everything continues to rise thanks to the commander-in-thief. All I want for Christmas is for Americans to wake up and stand up to the billionaire class that is robbing us blind. Check out this graphic from The Guardian illustrating how roughly 56,000 individuals control three times as much wealth as half of humanity.

So I’m extra grateful tonight for homegrown bounty, like this pile of Meyer lemons and bag of red limes that arrived the other day after a long journey from a friend’s backyard citrus trees. Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to make the most of the juice and the zest and the peels and every bit of these gorgeous fruits, and I’ll start by using the leftover pie crust to make lemon curd tartlets. I’ve never made them before, but how hard can it be? We’ll know more later!

Savoring

Dec10
Savoring this image of a place I’ve been (from The Guardian)

Neuroscience teaches us the wisdom of savoring moments of happiness, joy, awe, contentment, connection. When we pause for even just twenty seconds to immerse ourselves in these moments, our neural pathways strengthen in the areas that process these positive emotions. I opened this ‘long read’ in this morning’s Guardian email simply because it was news about the British Virgin Islands, a place that Auntie lived for almost a decade. I visited her there several times, which remain among the fondest and most vivid memories of my twenties. I was just skimming the article, nothing new here, political corruption runs rampant everywhere, even in paradise, when my eyes were arrested by this image, which I recognized instantly. It’s nearly the view from Auntie’s house. After a second I moved back to skimming the text, but then I thought better of it.

I returned to the image, made it full screen, and dove into the memories and feelings it evoked. I have swum in those waters, I thought. I learned to juggle standing on the end of a pier with exactly this view… I have skinny-dipped at night in those waters… an old pirate taught me to windsurf from a sailboat in that very bay… I’ve eaten the best key lime pie in the world at that restaurant right there…

I let the memories wash over me like warm Caribbean water. The details bloomed throughout the day and warmed my heart long after I’d closed the lid on the image. Strolling down the steep lane from the house wearing my first pareo with a hibiscus blossom in my hair, sunwarm breeze caressing shoulders, arms, legs, the feeling of freedom. The magic of snorkeling for the first time. Drinking too many rum and cokes with new friends and recklessly leaping off the dock laughing, splashing in moonlight. Waking the next morning to sunlight streaming in the open window and Auntie gently proffering a cool washcloth and no judgment. Soft sweet hours in her easy company, sailing to Virgin Gorda with her husband to swim in the Baths, driving the motorboat home from grocery shopping on Tortola, learning to cross the street on a hot day simply to walk on the shady side.

I didn’t dwell in the past all day in any melancholy way, but I let the lightness of those days lift me intermittently as each new memory arose, grateful for long ago tropical adventures, and the long gone beloveds who made them possible.

This Weekend in Birds

Dec9
Slate-colored junco

I’m grateful to Ruthie and Jeff for inspiring me to get a Bird Buddy feeder. I hadn’t fed birds for a decade, and I missed them. They’ve brought such joy to our days, and once the snow covered the land feeding them feels especially meaningful: Giving back.

Two house finches and a mountain chickadee

My heart melts for the northern flickers who are new to the feeder, though they’ve been regulars in the yarden all summer. Another newcomer is the black-billed magpie, caught on camera for the first time on Friday.

There were other gifts interspersed with birds, including young Bucky nibbling fallen desert willow leaves; and a large four-point buck, several does, and their adolescent fawns, all making the rounds each day to sweep up under the feeder, nap under a juniper, graze under the snow.

Saturday I needed an extra morning hot drink after coffee, and finally broke out the Swiss ovomaltine a friend gave me a couple of months ago. She’d been given it by a young friend who brought it from Switzerland, but passed it on to me because malt disagrees with her. With the help of a translation app and a conversion app I got it mixed with the right amount of hot milk, and gave myself a morning break with the last shortbread, a gift from another friend. (How lucky am I!)

An uncommon black-capped chickadee sharing the feeder with a female house finch
Two of the three Woodhouse scrub jays who dominate the feeder. I believe these are the babies I watched fledge last spring.

Another gift enhancing life is this salad dressing bottle, with recipes for five dressings and measurements right on the glass. I had misplaced it for a long time, and was embarrassed to tell my sister who gave it to me. But now she’ll know that I’ve found it and am grateful all over again for it. I’m also grateful for the gift of enough Tupelo honey to splurge on the honey mustard dressing.

Another mountain chickadee, or maybe the same one, with another house finch, or maybe the same one…

I’m grateful for the Great British Baking Show for so many reasons, but in this case for the challenge where they were judged on the scoring of their loaves. It inspired me to try an oak leaf, and I would not have gotten good a good score on my scoring. But I think Paul and Prue would have approved of the bake, and the tuna melt.

Just look at those eyelashes!

Another baking experiment turned out well, these chocolate snowflakes from Penzeys. More about them later. I couldn’t resist dropping one on the mint chocolate chip ice cream. But just one.

A male house finch thinks he’s got the feeder to himself…
… then has to share with a burly evening grosbeak, who takes over the moment.
(from Rob Brezsny’s Astrology Newsletter)

This message spoke to me this week, as I continually navigate the threshold between who I think I should be and who I actually am. I’m grateful for a wonderful discussion tonight with our monthly grateful gathering around the concept of thresholds. One person entering the job market, one considering retirement, several concerned for grown children at their own thresholds, and all of us feeling the gravity of the threshold our country is poised on. All of us, also, facing awareness of the final threshold that awaits every living being. I want to relax along the path and enjoy the journey to that cliff, before the inevitable jump off.

Gemini Full Moon

Dec4

I was grateful today for abundant sunshine to charge the solar panels and melt a little ice once I’d shoveled the paths again. And to lift the spirits of many of us.

I was astonished to look out the west window and see a doe chewing on an old shed antler that was ornamenting the garden. She munched on it for a long time while her fawn nibbled some leaves under the snow. It reminded me it was lunchtime.

Today I was grateful for the last two slices of bread which I dressed with peanut butter and jam. But yesterday, as cold and grey as it was, I was really happy to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I used mayo on both slices but then remembered I had a smidge of that tomato butter Amy and I made back in September. I’d pulled it from the freezer to make room for turkey stock and been using it up all week. So I spread that on one side, layered cheddar and Havarti on the other, and closed the sandwich. Then I tried a trick we’d seen on Instagram, to spread mashed potatoes on the outsides of the bread before grilling.

It must have not been the right kind of potato. It looked great, but the bread was actually less crispy than a usual butter or mayo grilled cheese. I topped it with the single harvest from the hydroponic tomato experiment, which also looked great but felt like a little marble so I gave it to Wren for last bite.

My little philosopher…

It was a lovely day. After lunch I edited some meditations, including this one from my dear departed friend Cynthia Wilcox. The timing was perfect for “Sensing into Boundaries.” As I was editing it someone came to the door that I just couldn’t attend to in that moment and Cindy’s guidance supported me.

And before I knew it, the short day was over. I made sure not to miss the rising of the Gemini Full Moon, whatever that means. A friend had mentioned it this morning as meaningful to her, and later texted after she watched it rise six hours earlier in London. I’d been upstairs waiting for it but remembered I had to run out and dump the birdbath before it froze, and just as I got there the moon peeked over the mountains.

The birdbath was already frozen. We came inside after this shot. I love how the farthest peaks of Mount Gunnison are still in alpenglow and the moon highlights a ridge I’d never realized was part of the distant mountain.

These last two are through the window so there’s a bit of distortion. I considered what my friend had said, and looked up the significance of this moon. Yoga Journal offered a full and mindful analysis from which I’ve excerpted this:

“What makes this full Moon particularly potent is how Gemini teaches us that reality is malleable. The stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what is possible for us, and what we deserve directly shape our experiences. When we change our internal narrative, we change our external world. This is the secret power of Gemini—it shows us that a simple shift in perspective can unlock doors we didn’t even know existed.”

Sparkles

Dec3

It’s hard to take anything personally from this perspective! This image is from The Atlantic’s 2025 Space Telescope Advent Calendar. This is Day 3’s offering, showing more than a hundred galaxies in Galaxy Cluster Abell 209, about 2.8 billion light-years away from my tiny speck of a life. Refreshing! I’ve always loved sparkles.

“Peace isn’t found in perfect conditions. Peace is found in how we care for one another, in the bonds we share, in the kindness we extend to all beings. Even in winter, love keeps us warm.”

Today was the first day I remembered to check in first thing with the Venerable Monks on their Walk for Peace. It’s been cold and rainy as they wend their way through Louisiana, some of them barefoot, some in socks and sandals, some with canes, walking to spread peace on earth. Between these macro and micro perspectives, I feel humbly grateful for this precious day that will never come again.

Winter is Here

Dec2

It came Sunday around noon with a gentle snow drifting down like cherry blossoms. Two inches were predicted which meant no worries about the driveway, clearing the car, even shoveling wouldn’t be too bad. Snow was still falling at bedtime, branches were bowing, cares were mounting.

I am as grateful as the parched earth for the moisture. As I woke thinking of the efforts that a big snow demands, my momentary resistance was eclipsed by the realization that I traded traffic and all it implies for this, and I was instantly happy to shovel snow.

Monday morning Wren burst out the door in her pink ‘outside’ sweater scattering deer and songbirds, but she stayed only as long as she needed to. I committed the day to incremental shoveling of essential pathways with rests between ventures out. It stayed cold all day despite abundant sunshine. Topaz refuses to go outside. I’m so glad for our long ramble on Saturday, enough to hold us for a couple of months.

Wren wore her parka for our longer forays out to shovel, and changed into her blue ‘inside’ sweater until the house warmed up enough. Like puppy like human, changing up layers all day long to stay just right.

Today the forecast was again for two inches of snow. I didn’t trust that, and when it started soft again this morning as it had on Sunday, I called the clinic and postponed my appointment. It was cloudy and cold all day and snowed off and on, for a grand total of new snow measuring half an inch. Ridiculous! But I heard that the clinic parking lot was so icy that people were falling down, and I was glad I stayed home. After a productive day I baked cinnamon rolls for the neighbor who was kind enough to clear our driveways. I think I’m closing in on the perfect recipe. We’ll know more tomorrow!