Woke up far too early this morning (why is it that during this week when I don't have to set an alarm, I'm waking up day after day earlier than I do on work days?). Cootie was howling, my mind was racing, and I was about to give up the notion of sleep when the first rush of wind roared through the trees, blowing right through the window glass to push the shades open just a bit. From our bedroom the wind feels closer, louder, as if we're nesting in some mountain aerie. It became a whole other pre-dawn story, so I pulled up the covers, snuggled closer to Linda, and actually dozed off listening, giving thanks for that moment.
Alas, once Dotty began her caterwauling there was no more hope of sleep. Of course, she stopped once I came downstairs and is now sleeping peacefully in her own nest. I'm fighting the urge to go wake her up and see how she likes it! Then began the morning routine of peeking out at the yard through the office windows, turning up the pellet stove, and pouring that lovely, dark, steaming first cup of coffee. One of the greatest inventions of all time has to be the programmable coffeemaker. I never take for granted the visceral pleasure of coming downstairs to the rich, welcoming scent of coffee already waiting for me....steaming hot, darkly beckoning me, the sound of it as I pour it into a carefully chosen mug (moose mugs in the winter although they are a tad too small, in summer & fall, the snake-handle pottery mug made by Susan Minyard of Sweetwater Pottery, and something sunny and bright in the early Spring when the soul longs for a splash of color). The routine continues with the daily--sometimes several times a day--check of the weather channel website...just how cold is it REALLY? Do we have snow to look forward to (hah!)? Is the heat ever going to break? Here's the weather irony...I love weather drama. Give me thunderstorms that shake the ground and light the night; give me the occasional blizzard (ideally, check dates with me first, please) BUT we settle here at the foot of the Catskills, in a house that had not one but TWO nearly 2 ft snowfalls the winter we bought the house but months before we took up residence full-time...and snowstorms either go well north of us, or well south. We live in the snow shower zone, the watch-out-there-may-be-flurries zone, the let's-get-just-enough-snow-to-make-it-unpleasantly-slippery-to-drive-but-not-enough-to-hunker-down snow. And those thunderstorms? Sweltering summer days, we entertain ourselves watching the armageddon clouds scoot around us. In fairness, we do get far more than our share of rainbows right above our yard, and I appreciate that, really. However, I definitely feel weather-cheated. Look, we can handle a big snowstorm; the snowblower is fixed, we have extra gas stored in the garage, a new shovel, no place important we have to go. Bring it on...please?
Time is racing....here's my question: is the acceleration of time an age-related phenomenon? Is it a symptom of there's-no-place-I'd-rather-be-than-home-itis? A side effect of being, shall we say, unsatisfied by my means of making a living? A combination of all of the above? Here it is, Tuesday morning, and I'm at the halfway point of my time off already. Okay, Christmas Eve was a full day of cleaning & cooking, and we spent a bit too much time cooking on Christmas Day. But I've also spent hours just vegging, or reading, or knitting (and alas will be spending this evening consulting with the wonderful owner of Amazing Threads in Saugerties as to how to fix the horrific mistake I made in Linda's otherwise gorgeous baby alpaca scarf). We wandered up to Windham to look for Francis X. Driscoll prints (in card form). We've gotten lost in Lost, curled up by the fire. There have been cups of lemon ginger tea and a game of Scrabble (Linda won). There has been leisure time, but still, like a dogsled mushing through the non-existent snow with me trying to hold it back rather than zipping along for the ride, time is lunging forward, and I'd like to register a formal complaint.