Hell if I know what I have been doing. Wallowing in winter, I guess. Gasping at the never ending, bone splintering cold. Not getting enough vitamin D. Moping. I was not surprised when the poinsettia that I have kept alive for three years quietly but emphatically died a few weeks ago and I find myself repeating Wallace Stevens: it was evening all afternoon. It was snowing and it was going to snow. This month has just been so dreary and repetitive and dreary.
So there it is. I didn't mean to drop off the face of the internet. Nothing major happened. No horrible illnesses. No unforeseen deportations. Just... winter.
I wasn't kidding about the vitamin D, though. 'Round about recently I realized that when I was not actively mourning my poinsettia I was asleep so I began to snarf extra vitamin D like Pez. I also started drinking coffee (although I still think it tastes like rejection) and voila. Here I am again.
You know, it's a good thing you cannot see me. I typed that and then pretended my hands were two abnormally wide guns and shot at the screen, like Kapow! Kapow! Kapow! Coffee! Vitamin D! I'm back! Watch out, March!
God. I embarrass; therefore I am.
Let's see. Apart from my gloomy self the rest of the household has been perfectly - one might say obnoxiously - cheerful. It's as if these people like bleakness and grey skies and thermometers that have to streeeeeeeeetch upwards to reach zero by noon.
For the most part they just skiied.
[Not pictured: Patrick. We gave his ski pass the ability to purchase hot chocolate and/or pretzels as needed and we never saw him again. Remind me to get back to the subject of Patrick, skiing, exurbs and autonomy. Tomorrow? Tomorrow!]
The twins started lessons after Christmas and although Steve confidently predicted that they would not make it off the bunny hill this year they surprised us by becoming fairly competent fairly quickly. Even Edward who... I'll get back to the subject of Edward, too, but the short version is that he is following in Patrick's wobbly footsteps and he started some therapies this month to help with motor skills both gross and fine... well, even Edward now rides the chair lift* and is learning to use his edges.
Steve bought a used tractor for the farm that got as far as our driveway before it decided it was too cold to move. I sympathize with it (perhaps it, too, could use some vitamins and coffee) but it is still disconcerting to pull out of the garage every morning and see a big freaking tractor sitting there.
Steve appears determined to draw us ever closer to the agrarian idyll - just when the industrial revolution seems to be going so well too. It might be a good thing that we will never be able to afford to retire as I suspect Steve envisions spending our golden years up to our hips in manure while I am dreaming of a bijou cardboard box that I plan to drag around Times Square in a wagon. So much depends upon the red wagon...
[Poetry seems to be creeping in today. Here are my five, maybe six, favorite poems
- The Highwayman*
- Annabel Lee*
- My Last Duchess*
- The Witch of Coos**
- Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
- La Muerta*
- The Filling Station
* She dies or ** he dies. I guess I like my language on the morbid side.]
This picture - or more specifically the moment it captured - kills me.
In these the flash is terrible but the camaraderie is cheering.
And finally, I give you Patrick's Vignettes in Snow. The first one I found outside the door after Patrick rang the bell. The next one is called 'The Hunt'. The final two Patrick entitled William Tell No One.
So I guess it's not winter so much; it's me. I'm the boring dreary one. What a - huh - depressing thought.
*The first time Edward and his teenaged lift buddy got on a chairlift together without a safety bar or a seat belt or a harness or a parachute or anything I thought I was going to throw up. Remember that whole Fear of My Children Falling thing I have? Sweet. Merciful. Madeleines. So scary.