My kitchen is collecting old stoneware bowls: heavy, earthy, a bit raw. I love mixing oatmeal molasses batter in them, or sipping bok choy soup. My new favorites. 🙂
Posts Tagged ‘winter’
I never know it until it’s right on top of me, how this dark gray weather, that can linger for days, affects me. It makes me terribly blue.
I try to pick myself up and get on with the day, but they’re very heavy, those clouds, all soaked, like a bad sponge over head, drip, drip, drip.
When it’s hot and sunny here I say things like “Agh! I’m moving to Seattle (which I love). It’s so much cooler there,” and” It’s just a little rain,” but the truth is it’s not just a little rain and gray is a bad color, except in a sweater.
I need to be outside, a lot. It isn’t just Zephyr who’s getting walked every day. “You’re such a good dog owner,” neighbors say, but really Zephyr is walking me too.
I get antsy and I’m prone to depression. Gloomy can feel like forever. I have to keep moving to stave off the blues. One of the toughest kinks really is how it feels like this gray doesn’t affect anyone else. It’s just a day and it’s raining, ho-hum. I feel guilty, like I should be better at “Okay, ho-hum, gray weather, on to the next thing,” but my DNA isn’t strung that way. So I have to deal with more about little things.
Right now, I’m packing boxes, listening to music upstairs, and the TV is on low downstairs. It makes my small apartment feel festive, alive. Whatever healthy tricks you have up your sleeve for staving off the blues do it. Go for coffee, see a movie, stroll through the mall, window shop. Exercise (I’m telling myself this too). As a friend once said, “If you’re not hurting anyone, or yourself, it’s okay.”
I find that Christmas lights are a big help too.
I found this leaf while I was out walking Zephyr. It was curled into this beautiful well all on its own. The cracks and curling, the frosty white edges. I took it home and found this persimmon fit into it perfectly, as is.
Isn’t nature amazing.
Have a warm, cozy, festive Thanksgiving.
We’ve been deep in hazy gray fog for nearly 5 days. This is California; we need a certain amount of sun to survive. I don’t care how cold it gets, but gray, unless knitted into a sweater, is not my color.
Zephyr and I have walked past this little red mitten, hanging on a tree, for nearly as long as the weather has been gloomy. It’s like Rudolph’s red nose, a bright red beacon in the fog.
Sun! Send us sun!
Every winter my friend, Ben, drops off an entire grocery bag filled with Meyer’s lemons and Meyer’s are the finest. I have managed to make my way through almost the entire bag alone. I love lemons. I squeeze them in hot water at night, over pasta, salad, in juice. I even make the ocassional batch of lemon bars, but mostly I just squeeze and drink them.
In the heart of winter when it’s the absolutle chilliest they are a warm comfort in my little kitchen. Such a great big gift. Thank you Ben!
Posted in Vegetable Stew--metaphorically, tagged digging out the car, gratification, hard work, mountain living, nostalgia, shoveling, snow, steamy coffee shops, walking, winter on December 14, 2008| Leave a Comment »
I’ve decided the universe is just not on my side right now and the best thing I can do is just ride it out. My car broke down again today, in the rain, after paying a boat load to have it repaired last week. Grrr. . .
The good news is I was fairly close to home, the tow truck showed up fast and it stopped raining long enough for me to have a good long walk home from the mechanic. I needed that cold, long walk. Walking is what keeps me grounded. Yeah, knees! Yeah, feet! Thank you.
Walking is when I think, get ideas, ruminate about life. Walking the miles home made me think about being a kid, living in the mountains and having to walk when your car is stuck in the snow, the plow hasn’t come for days, the roads are jammed, blocked, barricaded. We walked. We hitch hiked. We skied, to work, the store, school, wherever. And we usually froze our asses off doing it. Coffee shops were filled with thawing cold bodies drinking hot coffee, while coats and boots dripped onto the floor, steaming up the room, smelling like bacon, coffee and wet dog.
photo by Tampen
Urban life in the flat lands offers–dare I say–to much at our finger tips. We don’ t have to physically trudge for too much. I’m thinking in particular about shoveling out the driveway to get the car–or finding the car in the first place, digging it out, using a crow bar to get the door open if you were smart enough NOT to lock it the night before. If you did, you’re screwed.
Cutting, hauling and stacking wood isn’t a necessity here, just trip the heater switch: insta’ heat. (I do like that by the way, but not a lot of gratification involved.) No deck to shovel–I don’ t miss that, but hot soup and sandwiches taste so much better when you’ve cleared mounds of icy snow.
When I was in my teens, a boy who liked me, showed up at our house, climbed up on the roof (2 stories high) and shoveled for hours, until, apparently, he fell off onto the hardpack. (I wasn’t even home to appreciate the gesture! Or haul him into the house. My sister said he limped away down the road slowly, looking rather pained. You know he appreciated whatever he ate and drank that night. He certainly earned it.
I guess this ruminating is nostalgia. I don’ t know if I loved this harder life when I had it, even though I may have been stronger–better, for it. And would I take it back now? Not so sure. I’ll go stand on the insta’ heater and think about it.
I still feel like a vampire sucked the life out of me. Evil flu. By two I managed to go the cafe, get a very hot Chai and take Zephyr back to a safer corner of the park–vigilant of people and dogs. Luckily few were there. I sat and crocheted. Zephyr ate grass. All was copacetic.
Need to get to yarn shop. The weather has changed all my wants from dark browns and charcoals to pastels. If winter does not return soon, I can bag scarves all together, slip into skirts and flip-flops and paint.
The world is weird. d.
- The small things of life were often so much bigger that the great things. . . . the trivial pleasures like cooking, one's home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things seen and overheard." Barbara Pym, Less Than Angels
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