winter to spring

this winter has been so gloriously mild. lots of greens and browns on the landscape rather than white. when it has snowed, it's been a flaky snowfall that accumulates in miniscule inches and is gone the next day. crocus and daffodils already poking up in soft soil. more sneakers, less boots. walks on grass and asphalt, wearing thin gloves, going hatless. i have been spoiled by this winter's weather. 

until now. here we are only four days past the vernal equinox and we have snow. lots and lots of all day, all night snow. now that it's spring, comes the storm i've been dreading all winter. tonight my body aches from hauling in extra wood and shoveling to keep the walkway clear. it's snowing still and i know that tomorrow will hold more of the same. 

but as i write this, i am distracted by the forgotten beauty beyond my window. in the soft glow of the back door light, the snow sparkles as it flies through the air and settles in high drifts. it silences the night air and insulates this old house in a white blanket of warmth. it makes me remember what i have always loved about wintertime. 

heart day

i was in the greeting card section of the store looking for valentines, and a man and woman came up and stood, one on each side of me, and started going through the cards, much like i was. suddenly the guy says “i found yours!” and a few minutes later the woman says “and i found yours!” so they stepped behind me, exchanged their cards, read them aloud, and gushed over the sentiments. then they kissed and put the cards back in the rack. i looked at them and said “that’s sweet! aren’t you buying those for each other?” and the woman says, “no, we do this every valentine’s day. we find the perfect cards for each other, trade them and read them, but we don’t buy them. we’ve been been doing it for 41 years, and look,” she says, “we saved over eight dollars just this year alone!” romantic and smart!! happy heart day to you and your valentine!

sleepless

it's a dark and stormy night and i can't sleep with the driving wind and the sound of rain battering the window beside the bed. i listen to the stove beep off and back on several times, a sign that power may soon go out, and i get up to draw some water into the kettle so it will be there in the morning for coffee. out the window, the wind bends the lilac and blows leaves horizontally, a sure end to foliage season.

i light a beeswax votive, contemplate and quickly dismiss the idea of a cup of tea at this late hour, and i settle into the wingback chair to try to read a little. the quilt around my bare feet soon warms me and my head sinks into the left hand wing where it always rests now when i read. this is gladys taber, a writer from another era who lived by the sea. her writing reminds me of my mother and her mother before her, and of quieter, simpler times in our world. eventually, as they always do, her words bring me to a calm and peaceful place, far from the night's raging storm and far from the storms that have raged for years. and i blow out the candle, lest i fall asleep sitting right there.

the making of a student

this is my old student desk, the one my parents bought for me as i began junior high school. it's maple, with a smooth top and one board that has distinctly tiger markings. there are two drawers under the top, wide enough for notebooks and paper, narrow enough for pens and pencils. the bottom drawer is lined with cedar, and i was never quite sure why. maybe cedar helps to preserve books?

as a twelve year old, having such an important piece made me feel scholarly and smart, and i worked hard through my teen years to earn those distinctions. in a big and noisy family of nine, i had my own room and my own space to read and research, ponder and dream. i spent a lot of time there as a teenager, being studious, getting good grades, and learning to be comfortable as an introvert. i do believe that this desk made me the student that i still am, some sixty years later, still yearning for new knowledge and understanding, still moved by beautiful music and literature, still in awe of the natural world around me and the advances of science as they come.

this desk also belonged to each of my younger siblings, in the order of their birth. one spilled paint in the top drawer. one broke a drawer pull and it never sat right again. while sitting at the desk, one wrote in pencil under the kneehole as she sat, some scrawled message about loving some long-forgotten boy. one drilled a hole in the maple top for a computer cord. and many years later, when the youngest of us wanted it gone, i claimed it back as mine.

for a short while, it was the girl's and she used it for a computer stand. then it sat in a crowded guest room for decades, a repository for craft materials, old christmas cards, and assorted memorabilia. about a year ago, i cleaned it out and began a futile search for a family who might want it. i debated selling it and was told it wasn't worth the trouble. defeated, i took this photo to remember it by, then reluctantly donated the piece to habitat for humanity with explicit instructions to not allow me to buy it back.

the desk sat on their garage floor for six weeks. i know this because i visited it six sundays, running my hands along the top, opening and closing the drawers, inspecting the dovetailing and looking for a sign that i should just bring it back home with me. and then one day, it was gone - sold, a bookcase in its place. i was elated, relieved, and very sad.

and here is the blessing, the happy ending, the full circle: quite by accident, i found that my desk had been sold to the family of a seven year old i have known for several years. she's of school age now, and is a curious and funny little girl. her parents wanted a serious place for her to work - to read and research, to ponder and dream. and, it turns out, my desk is now the perfect place for her, too.

older than dirt

i had a landmark birthday this year. i celebrated the day - nay, the weekend! - with glee and wild abandon. i joked about my age, and embraced my newly grayed hair. but, now that the hoopla is over and reality sets in, i just don't know how this could have happened. i remember my mother and my grandmother at this age, and they were so old! just a few short years ago, i was a teenager, a young wife, a working mother. now here i am faced with home safety matters, downsizing, and end of life decisions. i'm too young for this to happen!

my dad used to quip about his age...i'm older than dirt...i don't buy any green bananas...i have suits older than you...and i've started to adopt them. so happy big, ole birthday to me! now where are my teeth and my housedress?

late winter snow

just as roads and pathways were finally clear of snow and ice, just as i changed from heavy gloves to leather dress ones, just as i was able to wear shoes outside instead of boots, this happens overnight. it's another nor'easter for this area, on top of one just a few days back. but again with this storm, we got lucky...lots and lots of snow, but it's warm inside, there's power, and there's no need to complain. forecasts of snow this time of year, when everyone is so ready for spring green and warmth, are hard to deal with. but it's always so magical when the snow actually does arrive. so i'll make another cup of tea, sit at my window and work, and continue to be distracted by the swirling beauty of fat flakes and the quiet elegance of a march snow. 

snow ball

the day after a fresh snow, the not-so-little girl wanted to play, to be outside. the snow was so deep, it was chilly, and i had things to do. but outside we went, she running and jumping like a pup through new powder, me dragging my heavy-booted feet and wondering how dinner would get made. we threw this orange ball for the better part of an hour, back and forth, back and forth across the wide expanse of snow. we whipped the ball across the surface making bowling ruts in the snow. we carved out circular depressions for targets and held our breath as the ball circled the perimeters and rolled in. our bodies warmed as our whooping echoed into the woods and through the early evening air. i worried only momentarily that we might disturb neighbors. this was too much fun to be quiet.

as sure as i sit here typing, i know a time will soon come when she's too old to play, when she's not willing to be wet and cold, when friends will replace me, and visits will go to classmates' houses and not mine. i know i will long for days like this one. so dinner be damned, i'll take play like this whenever it comes my way.

thrift store gift

each christmas, the girl and i exchange one gift that's been gently used or repurposed. this year, i gave her a spice rack from our community services store, the local place where we have always donated used clothes, books, and household items. i got it at a half price sale, so it was only a dollar. i was thrilled to find it and knew it would look good in the kitchen she had been renovating. 

fulfilling my christmas wish for colorful scarves with metallic elements, the girl bought me this long teal scarf, not a color i'd normally wear, but one that now looks fantastic with my recently-turned white hair. it has metallic threads - and even sequins! as i wrapped it around my shoulders, the girl told me it was my thrift gift, that she had bought it at goodwill. even better!! 

to get used to the color, i wore the scarf first to work, a few hours only - and yes, i loved it! so i wore it two days later to an important meeting filled with people i did not know. midway through the meeting, my fingers found a stiff strip across one end of the scarf, just above the beautifully tied fringe. what was this thing? i lowered the section to my lap and surreptitiously tried to peel off the sticker. it would not budge. i turned the section into my lap and tried to hide it for the rest of the meeting.

that night at home, i inspected the sticker and realized its purpose; i had seen tabs like this on my own father's clothes. on it was a first initial and a last name. this scarf belonged to a woman who lived in a communal situation, someone who shared storage and laundry facilities with others. she wore this to dinner at her independent living community. she put it on for movie nights in the common room of an assisted living facility. she wore it when she wanted to look pretty for visitors to the nursing home. and the tag was prominently placed to make it easier to return the scarf to her should it get misplaced or taken away for cleaning. 

i have tried to remove this tag, and cannot. it must be glued - pulling will only rip the delicate threads of the weave. so i wear the scarf with the tag strategically placed inside, against my shirt and hope that it stays that way. and each time i wear it, i take with me the memory of a w. schoolcraft, another white-haired woman, one who had impeccable taste in scarves. 

pretty papers

when she was a child, the girl made a present for me in school, and wrapped it in potato print paper that she stamped herself. every christmas since, for at least three decades, i wrap one of her presents in this same paper, saved from one christmas to the next. and now the not-so-little girl continues this tradition. this christmas, she made her own decorated brown paper and wrapped one of my gifts in it. so today, as i pack away the holidays, i carefully smooth it and wrap the paper around a discarded paper towel tube, to keep it nice - so i can reuse it for many christmases to come.

 

christmas past

it's a few weeks yet 'til christmas, but we are putting up the tree tonight. this is unplanned, but the tree is in the yard, up against the house, and why not now? the not-so-little girl is anxious to decorate, so in comes the tree, we find the stand and the box of ornaments and she begins. she remembers from year to year how she and i like this tree to look: the old red flocked birds are indeed "flocked", all gathered together on one the side of the tree. her great-great grandmother's sequined ball is high up near the top, so you can look up and see all the sparkles reflect the tree lights. delicate ornaments still go near the top of the tree, a reminder of long-ago christmases when we had babies and dogs. 

we listen to christmas music as she decorates and i make us supper. suddenly, she's in the kitchen at my side, with one of the old plastic filagree balls in her hand. there's something inside, she whispers. listen. and i hear the quiet rattle. we investigate, and find something tiny and cylindrical inside. she shakes and tips and tries to bring the object to a large hole in the ornament, but its shape won't allow it to be pulled through. finally we resort to tweezers and gently tug. and out it comes. 

it's paper, and it's old and thin. slowly, carefully, the not-so-little girl unfurls the scrap and reads its contents: december 24, 1985. and it is signed, in a childlike scrawl, by her mother.

how can this be? it's been right there, unnoticed, for thirty-two christmases! we can't wait to share our find with the girl herself! but she does not remember placing such a note and is as astonished as we are. more quick math and we come to the realization that, when she hid this note, she was ten, and exactly the age that the not-so-little-girl is now.

on her own, the youngest of us decides to return the note to its original hiding place and add a second one, this one dated december 8, 2017, and signed in her own childlike hand. she hopes some christmas as she decorates, her own daughter may notice the tiny rolled notes hidden deep inside her great-grandmother's gold filagree ornament, and be just as surprised and delighted by their discovery as we all were this christmas.

transcription

the holidays are coming, beginning with thanksgiving in just a few days, and i have been cleaning, prepping, and making lists. when i poll the family about preferences and expectations, the not-so-little-girl reminds me that we alway have cookies for dessert. i guess i have inadvertently made yet another tradition, so tonight and i drag out my old cookbook to make the dough so she can decorate cookies when she comes on wednesday.

the book falls open to the recipe, such a mess is the page it's on. forty-five years of splattered dough, greasy smudges, and messy fingerprints distract me from the familiar words as i follow them to make the dough. after i set it in the refrigerator to chill, after i clean and put away the mixing bowls and spatulas, i sit with choral music and tea to type the ingredients and directions into google docs, my recipe box in the cloud, where all my old favorites these days reside, annotated and ready to share when the time is right. i think to cut and paste it here, where i have not been in a very long time.

Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies

From McCall’s Cookie Collection © The McCall Corporation 1965

...these are the sugar cookies we made every Christmas when the girl was a child,

and later at Thanksgiving when the not-so-little girl was young…

4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon (or more!) nutmeg
1 cup soft butter
1 ½ cups sugar
1 egg
½ cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Sift flour with baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg; set aside.
In a large bowl of electric mixer, at medium speed, beat butter, sugar, and egg until light and fluffy.
At low speed, beat in sour cream and vanilla until smooth.
Gradually add flour mixture, beating until well combined.
With rubber scraper, form dough into a ball. Wrap in waxed paper or foil; refrigerate several hours, or overnight.
Divide dough into 4 parts. Refrigerate until ready to roll out.
Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease cookie sheet.
On a well-floured surface, roll dough, one part at a time, ¼” thick.
With floured, 2 ½” round or scalloped cookie cutter, cut out cookies. Using spatula, place, 2” apart, on prepared cookie sheets. Reroll trimmings and cut.
Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden. Remove to wire rack; cool.
Makes about 6 dozen (the round 2 ½” ones).

My notes: Pshaw! We never made plain old round ones! We made trees and Santas and reindeers and gingerbread men and stars - and leaves and turkeys at Thanksgiving!! These are very good, especially the ones that get rolled out first - rerolls are not as light. Don’t roll too thick. They taste best frosted and are yummy with eggnog.

Our frosting: 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar and 2 ½ to 3 tablespoons of milk. Beat with wooden spoon, add more milk if too thick. Color with food coloring, of course. Keep a little white for snowmen, and Santa's beard. 

i head to bed now, content in the knowledge that the recipe is preserved for the girl, for her daughter, for posterity. and for tradition. 

downsizing

in the midst of the summer gardening and room painting and kitchen redo (no, it's still not done), i am trying to clean out useless things. stuff i've held onto for most of my life that means very little or nothing to other people. things i don't want the girl to have to deal with when it comes time to clean this place out for the last time. here is a perfect example of what i mean. it's the end of a roll of vinyl wallpaper i bought in 1981. 

we were moving out of state, leaving family and friends, and starting new jobs. the girl was turning five, and beginning school in a few months. with all the details of the packing and moving, uppermost in my mind was making the transition as easy and fun as i could for her. we rented a house sight unseen because it was in a small rural neighborhood and had a big yard and four bedrooms. we chose for her the room with the most light and the most nooks and secret spots for playing. and i made it a priority to have it completely redone and beautiful before we moved in.

and this is the bedroom wallpaper that she and i chose, sitting one evening on the porch swing of the house we would soon be leaving, the only home she'd known. we both gasped when we turned this page, and knew we had found the perfect wall covering. in an effort to capture the experience, i saved this piece when we left the rental for our new home in our new state. and i've had it ever since, tucked in the back of the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser. 

of course, my tastes have changed significantly since then, and i am now admittedly horrified to think that i imposed such graphic chaos on so young a psyche. but at that pivotal, transitional time of our lives, it was just what we both needed. 

june ketchup

again, i am woefully negligent in my postings and offer a few errant accounts as proof that i was in awe of my surrounding this beautiful month.

first, these lady slippers, discovered on the usual walking route of the leading edge of the property's boundary line. i have seen many such plants deep in our woods, and for years have hoped that they would propagate down the hill. and i swear these were never here before. but this year, thirteen plants, all in one quite visible spot. i wish i had been more aware earlier in their blooming, and have made several notes to self to look for them next spring. 

next, this flash of brilliant blue in my peripheral vision one morning while making coffee. i abandoned the coffee to watch it, and debated leaving the window to get my camera. more and more, i am having those moments when i must choose between watching in quiet awe or grappling with the camera to document. in the end, i went for the camera, shooting rapid boosts of not-very-great photos before he flew. i have never seen a bird this blue, and wonder if it might be an indigo bunting. i expect i won't see one again for a long while.

and finally, these irises, blooming profusely on their own, and covering the unkempt hill up to the woods. they do not last long but they are beautiful while they're there. i'm always happy to see them and silently thank whoever came before me and had the presence of mind to plant them. 

one last ride

in this, the month of her birth, the not-so-little girl bemoans the fact that she will soon be too old to ride the mechanical rides at the local outlet mall. for many years, she's been too big to ride them, but every time we're there, she squeezes herself into one and begs for three quarters. being the good grandmother that i am, i, of course, oblige - and off she goes, blissfully a little girl again, laughing and whooping for the two minute ride. but now it's different, because the age limits are clearly posted on each ride, she can read them, and she knows she will very soon be out of the age range.

to mark this mournful passage, i gift wrap a roll of quarters, and off we go, the two of us, on the eve of her birthday, to ride one more time the merry-go-rounds and vehicles and animals that have given her such gleeful joy for so many years. and although it takes more time that we have and more money than we should probably spend, she rides every single one. and that's okay with me.

out of place

found, in the woods, on the dirt driveway of friends, this maple leaf only recently unfurled on its branch. staring up at me, a circlet with colors that mesmerize. how does this happen, these odd colors, when the rest of the world is newly vibrant green? after some research, the driveway friend tells me the center is the tiny egg of a gall wasp. so now i know what it is - but i still don't understand. 

shoes x 4

it's no secret that i hate to shop, and especially for clothes. so time-consuming, and such a waste of energy when i wear the same things day after day after day. i recently spotted these shoes online, and bought the orange pair so i didn't have to drive to the mall to shop. they were inexpensive, they looked comfortable - and it turns out, they were! so i bought another pair - and then another - and yet another. i think i'm finished now, although they do have a nice white pair that would look good for summer...

tiny volunteer

the tiniest of lupine plants, nestled among the wild violets under the garden bench, so very far away from any host plant. wondrous...how does this happen?

traditions

it's her 3/4 birthday, she tells me. in three months, she'll advance a whole whole number. where has the time gone, i continually wonder. but then - look! thankfully, you're never too old for an egg tree...

a spring visit

standing at the open window, washing morning coffee cups and cereal bowls, i am thinking of my mother and how she loved spring. new growth in her garden, geese returning to the river, sitting outside - she was always glad to see winter over. perhaps i get that from her. 

from the corner of my eye, i see something drop like a stone from a high branch of the lilac tree outside. too fast and straight to be a leaf, i think, as i step to the door to investigate. and there she is, right outside my back door.

i have heard cardinals this spring and saw a male from a distance a few weeks back, but never the elusive female. there's no seed out there because i haven't fed winter birds - or winter mice - in years. and there was no male in sight, watching his mate from a high maple or hemlock branch. 

she visits for a long while, then flies back up into the lilac, and finally, off into the deep woods. i took about twenty shots with my telephoto lens, all through a winter-dirty window pane, so as not to disturb and to keep her around as long as i possibly could. 

tea time - or coffee?

seems more and more, i turn to tea over coffee in the wintertime. it warms these bones, soothes a dry, scratchy throat, and smells fragrant and light. earl grey, ginger, english breakfast, lemon zinger, chai, all served steaming hot and laced with local honey from a young friend's bees. for breakfast, i need hot coffee, at least one cup, all year round. in summer, i'll drink iced coffee, and likely too much of it! but on sharply crisp, bright winter afternoons like this one, i'll take a mug of hot tea. how about you?

light times two

in the foreground, one of my window candles, this year battery-operated ones on a timer set in early december to coordinate with dusk. in the background, a large hill, probably a mile or so away, brightly lit by the rays of the sinking sun. i should have reset the timers weeks ago, but every evening this sight is a joyous reminder that the days really are getting longer and longer.

sweet!

at work, i have deemed myself the designated recycler and, two saturdays a month, i'll take the excess paper - the old magazines, the outdated newspapers, the packaging materials - to the transfer station. after i'd done this for several years, i found out from area children that the nice elderly man at the recycle house passes out tootsie pops to kids when they recycle. hey - i recycle! i like tootsie pops! so i mentioned it to him and last fall, he began to include me! he knows i only like the chocolate tootsie pops, so he always saves one for me. but today, a windfall - one that made me smile all the way home.

extremes

around noontime, i realized it was not only sunny and above freezing, it was actually a bit warm outside. so i went out into the yard in my indoor birkenstocks. i sat for a bit, i took some photos, i enjoyed the sun. when i had to come back inside, i opened the kitchen window and smelled the clean air while i worked and cooked and puttered.

but within an hour, the sky darkened, the wind began to howl, and a snow squall blew in, lasting about thirty minutes. new england really has some crazy weather, but it's one of the things that makes this an interesting place to be!

more like it

so here finally is the winter we've all been waiting for, some for longer than others. it's cold, a monday, and nothing of any consequence is happening. but while washing dishes at the sink, i was pleased to spot, amidst all the new white, the vibrant rose of the not-so-little-girl's birdhouse, its top permanently removed by a persistent squirrel. and i was delighted when a random glob of suds leapt up onto the backsplash and formed itself into this tiny, soapy heart.

january. not much to write home about. 

renovation

kitchen redo begins today. it's been a long time coming. i have no idea what i'm doing. wish me luck.

rainy day in january

sitting inside at the window, looking out at the bleak and rainy landscape, having bread and the last of the girls' strawberry jam. it tastes like summer.

a pumpkin feast

see that fat, furry little guy? in november, he decimated every october pumpkin i tossed into the compost pile. this was a tiny sugar pumpkin that i thought i might cook and freeze, but it sat too close to the woodstove and began to get mushy. so yesterday, on my way to put it in the winter compost barrel, i thought better of it and pitched it out into the side yard. and there he is - back again for one last pumpkin lunch!

a little christmas

christmas has always been one of my favorite times of year, and this year's holiday was wonderful in so many respects. the time between thanksgiving and christmas did not pass as quickly as it had other years, and i had plenty of time to do what i wanted to do to celebrate and needed to do to be ready for the day. i volunteered at our local community center and school so i was around excited little kids - not to mention the excitement in my own family. the girl, the not-so-little-girl, and i got all dressed up one sunday night and went to a fancy restaurant for dinner, to one of those places with beautiful christmas displays. it's something i have wanted to do for many christmases and i am so glad we made that memory. i celebrated advent at church and loved the preparation for jesus' birth. christmas eve here was fun; christmas day at the girl's was wonderful.

but something just wasn't quite right this christmas and try as i might, i just cannot pinpoint it. i am chalking it up to the mild weather, the lack of snow, and the fact that it was a brown, almost green, christmas. it's the only thing i can think of.

origami delight

one saturday this fall, i chanced to meet and be part of a conversation with a lovely and quiet man, probably a little older than me. what we talked about must have been pretty general and of little significance, because i can't remember the topics. what i do remember is the fact that he was actively interested in whatever it was we had to say. he asked questions, and was a very good listener.

before he left, he presented us each with an intricate origami dollar, crisply folded into a beautiful symmetrical object. mine was a heart, backed on a felt square and carefully packaged into a tiny sleeve. at the back of the package, a card with a greek proverb, a shiny sticker, and a tiny jeweled bauble. clearly, this man was intentional in his presentation.

we were so taken aback to receive such a lovely gift from a stranger. we tried to pay him, but he declined. we offered dollar bills so he could make more, and he told us it wasn't necessary. he wouldn't give us his name, only asked that we enjoy his small gift.

i stood the dollar heart on my desk here, and thought about the chance encounter for days. months later, i am still in awe of all that transpired. why would a stranger do such a thing? not only is he spending a great deal of time making these for people he doesn't know and likely will never see again, he's giving away his money a dollar at a time. obviously, his simple reward is in the delight and enjoyment of his recipients.

a few weeks ago, as i inserted my card into a gas pump a few towns away, i found something blocking the slot. i removed it, and was elated to find another origami dollar, packaged in the same manner, this one folded into a tiny shirt. my glee was apparent as i pocketed the treasure and pumped the gas, grinning like a fool. how lucky was i to encounter this man, not once, but twice? by the time i was finished, i knew how to repay this man. i returned the shirt dollar back to the gas pump slot in hopes that the next person would find in it as much delight and enjoyment as i had.

autumn, odds & ends

it borders on embarrassing to be doing this - posting photos and writings from up to four months ago. but i've been feeling guilty about not writing, have been missing blogging, and thinking lots about how to get back into the swing of things. i've decided there is no gracious way to do it other than beg your forgiveness, thank you for your concern, and just jump right back in. so i'm playing "ketchup" again, and fashioning several posts of remembrances that should have been here long ago... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanksgiving. it was lovely, meaningful, quiet. the not-so-little-girl was in charge of decor, so she painted dried oak leaves and personalized them with guests' names. an unseasonably warm day, and we opened windows to let out the heat from the turkey roasting. 

pumpkin pie, made from a pumpkin i roasted myself. it was burned, but delicious. and i'll never use canned pumpkin again. 

fruits and vegetables, ready to roast in the oven for squash soup

the festive kitchen chalkboard, with a turkey suggesting that we eat more chicken. 

snowdrops, coming up in the garden in december. worse than this, the girl's snowdrops actually flowered. it makes me wonder what they'll do in april, when they're supposed to appear. 

and look. here's the carrots from the garden. they were short and stumpy, but quite tasty. next year, i'm planting twice as many. 

finally, bernie sanders. i have seen him twice this fall. generally, i am pretty quiet with regard to politics, trying to be respectful of others' opinions. but this year, i just can't do it. 

autumn

in my defense, fall this year stretched for month after glorious month, with warm days and brilliant nights, and i was away from my desk and outside as much as was possible. in september and october, the foliage was blindingly beautiful. i spent so much time stopping and marvelling at the incredible show of color new england had this year, that i didn't take any photos, save the few you see here. i knew my skills could never do justice to the beauty i was seeing with my eyes, so i didn't even try. and, now that it's gone, i don't even think i'm sorry i did that.

the other thing: as much as i adore fall, i was dreading the thoughts that winter was coming next. last winter must have taken a toll on me, one who always loved the beauty of the season. it was just too cold, too snowy, and much too long. so when autumn continued into a bright and clear november, and then morphed into a balmy, dry december, i wanted to take advantage of every outdoor moment i could. i put on my blaze orange scarf and strolled into the woods during hunting season. i drove with the window down. i painted and stained and polyurethaned. i sat outside til dusk and read. i stood in the yard and gawked at the night sky. and i reveled in the fact that i could wear a denim jacket and sneakers instead of wool coats and boots.

as i write this, we are anticipating our first significant snowfall. our brown christmas is just over, january approaches, and it's okay for snow now, i think. i just hope it's not as much as last year.