This morning, when I got up, the temperature was barely above zero.
Little Miss Watson was staring out the window. Perhaps she was wondering when the snow would go away.
Not any time soon. The snow bankings at the end of the driveway are taller than the car.
The wheelbarrow is stuck in snow.
And the pig won’t be flying until spring.
Even though I am partial to warm weather, longer days, and nights on the patio, I always look forward to January, a beautiful, restful month. Yes, it is cold in January in Maine, but I feel as though I have permission to slow down, to not worry about anything other than basic housekeeping.
After the holidays, always fun but hectic, this time for slowing down seems like a gift, and this year, it is especially true. After launching Maya and the Book of Everything and then galloping into the holidays, I feel—to borrow from Bilbo Baggins—like butter scraped over too much bread.
Deep winter. Time to watch movies and read. To make apple crisp and get together with friends. And when I’m more rested, to host a brunch or two. Clif’s waffles are pretty darned good, and my homefries aren’t too bad either.