JEWELRY
On Friday, the sun came peeking out for a bit, a moment my husband and I took advantage of by taking our dog for a walk around the block. At 2.5 miles, it is just the right distance to get some exercise and not get too cold.
All the fresh snow glittered and sparkled in the sunshine, the birds were out and about singing happy, and it was so good to feel the warmth of the sun on my face.
I am still in full-on hermit mode, yesterday was spent in front of the fire, reading and catching up on paperwork, quite boring, really. Although, at no point was I actually bored. I can’t even remember the last time I was bored. There are so many things I want to do, always. And when I choose to do nothing, which is rare, it is a welcome respite from the normal pace of my life.
These moments don’t last, these moments relaxing before the fire in winter, these moments when the sun peeks out in the middle of a storm, these moments walking through a magical afternoon.
Which is exactly what makes them precious and memorable, despite their perfectly boring, ordinary countenance.
Boring but not bored. Quiet but not silent.
Walking hand in hand with winter in
solitude but not alone.
It’s been snowing here for days, and just now as I look out my window, the sun has managed to break through the clouds even as big, fluffy snowflakes continue to drift lazily down onto a sparkling, glittering world.
It’s like living in a snow globe that someone keeps shaking.
I am feeling wonderfully cozy but quite unproductive. Each day I set out
to accomplish this and this and this, and by late afternoon, all I want to do
is make a fire and grab my book. Of course, I first have to finish my work,
but once that is done, to other “to-do” things don’t seem to be calling my name quite as loudly as Hemingway’s writing.
I am going to have a lot to catch up on this weekend.
And though cabin fever has already begun to set in a bit, I love this time of year just for the very fact that I can sometimes push my to-do list aside.
As the year goes on and jewelry season begins, and my garden
begins to grow, that becomes less and less possible.
So for now I shall revel in these days of semi-laziness, revel in the
snow-globe sense of security, revel in the slower pace of life.
Golden moments to immerse myself in, admire, appreciate.
Moments worth much more than their weight in gold
as I sit here on the inside, looking out.
::
Here’s hoping you have a few of those moments
yourself this weekend…
How much power is there, in a word?
If I say it out loud, will this sparrow head for the sky?
If I startle him, he will leap and fly,
but flying is different from soaring.
It’s a subtle difference, but it’s there.
There’s a little bit of a glide involved,
a little less climb, a little more riding the wind.
Maybe there’s a little letting go of the fear,
or the inexperience,
that keeps him grounded.
Either way, simply saying it won’t change a thing.
When that bird is good and ready,
he will spread those wings.
If not today, then tomorrow, or the next.
Deep down he knows nothing else
but to
soar.
A blue jay in my driveway eating seed.
Snow sprinkled on trees like confectionery sugar.
A stay at home weekend waiting in the wings.
Bidding adieu to twinkling lights and decorations.
A Sunday spent reading by the fire.
Oh, how I long for a month of Sundays.
has begun, I find my eyes searching the horizon, hoping for a splash of the color that means life.
This past weekend it was warm here, in the high 50s which is crazy for January, and for a day, the grass turned green again.
Now, just a few days later, it is covered, once again, in a blanket of white.
And now it is time to sit by the fire and sip a cup of tea with a stack of seed catalogs at my side. Page upon page of flowers and more flowers and every shade of green I can imagine, and, oh, all that possibility.
I am so looking forward to starting seeds again this year. Last year, the first year in almost ten years, I chose not to, and I regretted that decision. I missed the process, missed the choosing and the planting and the waiting and the coddling and the feeding and the carrying of the trays outside on the first warm day for a short little peek at the sun.
In February and March, the dreariest of months where I live, I will have tiny little seedlings growing in my basement.
When cabin fever hits and I am craving green and would give anything for a tiny breath of spring, I will walk downstairs and find it there, a wonderful sight for my snow-sore eyes.
There will be lots and lots of petunias, tall ageratum and tall snapdragons. There will be tomatoes and peppers and marigolds and morning glory and delphinium. There will be new things to try and old friends to visit.
For now, I must be content with this bowl full of paperwhite narcissus and this colorful stack of catalogs and all my planting dreams.
But, after all, isn’t that what winter is for?
Today I am over at Inspiration Studio, with some thoughts on new growth.
I would love it if you stopped over to say hello!
:: :: ::
I have also joined in a fun new project with Graciel at evenstart art
and Debi at emmatree.
We are each, in our own way, going to create a dollhouse this year, a dollhouse for the soul, if you will. Graciel has a dollhouse from her childhood that she is going to decorate, Debi is creating individual rooms, I am planning to create digital rooms that belong to The House that Defines Me, one for each of my creative pursuits, writing, photography, knitting, etc.
Sounds like great fun, eh?
I will offer more details soon, think about it, you may want to join us!
It’s that time again.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Isn’t it funny how we define our lives in these parcels of time called years, as if January 1st is so very different from December 31st?
I suppose we like beginnings, fresh starts, the illusion, at least, that we can start again. We like to wrap the old year up in a neat little package and store it away in that closet called the past.
And then we set this new box before us called the future.
We peek in, hoping that we will see a new reflection in the mirror that lies at the bottom of this box, just beneath all the tissue paper and glitter.
But what we see is our same self, just one day older.
This past year was a crazy one, hectic and busy and filled
with a whole lot of wonderful living. Good living. In the moment living.
I did a better job at that than I ever have before.
And I hope to keep that up as this next year passes.
It was also a stressful year, I had a lot on my plate, too much a great deal of the time. All self-driven, mostly creative pursuits. I don’t feel bad about that. But I was slightly off-kilter for a good part of the year,
running to catch up with the rest of my life.
Recently, someone asked me if I was going to choose a word for 2011.
And at first I said no, I’m not big on making resolutions,
I like to let things unfold as they will.
But then a word just sidled up and whispered itself to me.
And so, I chose a word. Or rather, it chose me.
balance.
It’s a good word. And it’s not a resolution. It’s a word.
And to me that means that it’s not something I have to spend
all my time striving for, only to feel frustrated when and if I fail.
Instead, it is a word to inhale, slowly, holding my breath
for just a tiny bit longer every day.
A word that knows that the good will come with the bad,
the calm will follow the storm,
and the symphony will end with silence.
I think that’s a word I can live with.
::
Did you choose a word? Did a word choose you?
Happy New Year to you!
There are so many things you can miss in a day, things that stay hidden
in the margins, sights and sounds and thoughts and emotions.
Yesterday, I went for a walk around my block, there is a stretch of road
that borders empty corn fields. As I walked I kept hearing geese,
and I kept looking up at the sky, not finding them.
Because they were there, right next to me, on the ground,
blending in with the field.
Even after I knew they were there,
it was still a little hard to see them.
But it was a great reminder.
My favorite kind.
Don’t be such a silly goose:
pay attention.
Twitter
RSS
Facebook
