Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
We got over a foot of snow between Friday night and Sunday morning. I would be here telling you it was awesome, except I was driving home in it, from Ithaca, Saturday afternoon. That was emphatically not awesome, but coming down, down out of the hills west of the Unadilla valley and knowing there was naught but level roads between there and home was awesome. And pulling into the driveway was awesome.
And Sunday, snowed in, was awesome. I sewed and made pasta and soup and pancakes, and in the afternoon we took Del for a frolic. The snow was so deep he could only move by bounding: these ridiculous, gleeful, high dog-leaps in the snow. We walked through the pines to the flat by the river; I gathered a bunch of white pine and rose hips and nannyberry twigs, to make things festive-r inside. It was great.
I had a good 24 hours in Ithaca: drinks with Kat and Mark, cold-cold-cold walking to a show with Kat, dancing 'til 1 am with Kat (something we have not done in a very very long time), Christmas shopping, lunch with my cousin. So full and good; definitely worth the scary drive home.
It's crazy how close we are to Christmas. I'm in pretty good shape gift-wise and meal-wise, but the house is a mess. I am going to try, in between scrubbing the bathtub and swabbing cobwebs out of corners, to savor these last seven days before Christmas arrives proper. And these last seven days of being 30. Oh, what a year. Hard year. The year of the Del and of Nashville. Good year.