172: Today at Colville

Today it snowed, an entire nine to five shift of flakes making the world magical. We took the dogs to the park, where we were the only ghostly ones, and let them off their leashes. So much joy in that. We heard eagles, but saw none, and I'm having trouble deciding which of these photographs is my favorite.

As always, see more here.

Also today: morning bookstore shift, ordered this book and this one; Ryan lost one of his lenses to his glasses in the snowy backyard (fortunately, he somehow has an even older pair he can wear until he finally makes an optometrist appointment); we are having Mediterranean chicken and Arborio rice for dinner as well as another (my seventh!) loaf of Vermont Cheddar Bread (it was also good with this spicy chicken we had a few nights ago). Tomorrow we hope to head to the Twin Cities to check out the CSI exhibit at the Minnesota Science Museum with Lane and Angie; we're also bringing (former student) Brianna along.

And tonight: more knitting. I'm pleased at how quickly all my projects are going; I might actually manage to meet all my meager goals by the holiday. I feel so lucky at how easy it's been this year. (You know, despite our own variation of the holiday counting songs: three car repairs, two frozen pipes, one barely functioning garage door, and a lost lens in the sno-o-ow!)

Stay warm and safe, all, and enjoy this magical snow.

xo

171: Shifting

It seems strange to think about, the way blogs function in our lives, how some stick to just-family-and-friends and others are voyeuristic and become connected to strangers. For me, it's all about admiration: there are some talented individuals out there, with their eyes, with their words, and, as any good year does, when it comes to a close, a few projects end as well. So, of course, I wanted to make a tiny post to wish those good things a bon voyage and hope the generators of such goodness will swoop in with new creative endeavors equally as wonderful:

- Port2Port: Her shop is now closed, her custom orders end in January, and her blog has ended. But Maria / mav will still be around on Flickr, and though 3191's evenings are ending also in January, a third year is bringing some new surprises--with writing this time!

- Simply Breakfast: Jen's Simply Photo is still around and my most-shopped etsy stop will still be around, but her breakfasts are ending. Of course, we can own our very own hard copies of such goodness: books one and two are for sale.

- Before + After: Two of my favorite photographers ending their joint project. Jen (above) and Nicole will still continue bringing beauty to us on their flickr pages and their blogs: The Habit of Being and Simply Photo.

- Inspired: Heather Smith Jones and Jen also had a lovely collaboration of art and photography, which is also coming to a close. You can see hrsj's versions here and jen's here.

Best wishes!

170

Yesterday: Ryan's car has something faulty with the RPM, which means both our cars will be at the mechanic's today. Perhaps then mine doesn't have to be so lonesome for too long.

I finished up my holiday shopping, I believe, but I wouldn't dare reveal anything here. I will say this: I picked up some maple creams dipped in chocolate to bring home with me for everyone to try, but I don't think they'll last through the weekend.

Packages are also all out in the mail, so friends and family living in far-flung parts will actually get their gifts from me on time. It's a strange concept for me, and I have high hopes of staying on top of birthdays for next year, though I'm guessing my ability to distract easily will come into play and I won't get much past January.

I found a little last minute something for Ryan: wood topped wine bottlestoppers. I had one shipped to my in-laws', since that is where we'll be Christmas Day, and I'm pretty excited. I also picked up a copy of The Beer Book at work, and there are a few other little items. We promised we wouldn't get each other anything, but I couldn't resist. There's always that little shiver of pleasure when you find something you just know the other person might like.

Also: I think I might try an adaptation of this recipe for pasta sauce with those book club tomatoes. I'm not sure if I can freeze some of it? I really need to learn how to can. Perhaps I'll make myself a little list of things I'd like to learn in 2009.

169: sometimes it's about the comfort.

I know I should work on the turkey stock. I know these things. I know I have about five jars full of chicken soup I made this summer, frozen. I know I ought to eat the yogurt that's about to expire and the cantaloupe that might need to go straight to the compost, and I know that as I write this, I am putting a lot of sodium into my gullet.

But sometimes it's about feeling like a little kid: Garrison Keillor may have grown up near a half acre garden, but my parents were teachers, were busy, and though my mother's efforts at making our own baby food translated into macaroni and cheese when we were seven, I'm pretty sure the soup with stars only came out when we were sick, just like the Gatorade (which is why I cannot drink Gatorade without thinking I have the flu).

Today: no work, which means I need to take advantage of the free time to finish my holiday packages and get them to the post office. I did some last minute knitting to add to one to my grandmother, with some Rorschach looking results (good thing she's into "the thought that counts," yes?) and worked on The Big Project into the night.

Today: Ryan is home, his car is in the shop. Something about chugging, something about flickering off and then returning down the hill and into the garage's lot. Yesterday I made an appointment for my own car (180,000 miles!), and it will be going in tomorrow. I'm still reeling a little from our clutch troubles.

Speaking of troubles, our pipes indeed were frozen two days ago. The plumber managed to redo some insulation in our basement (the area our friend Jay fondly nicknamed, "The vortex of hell"--it's one of those dirt half-basements, though we do have two rooms down there, one of which is technically a bedroom and was used, but I can hardly go down there by myself), and I did some detecting and recalled that our giant bull-in-the-china-shop dog Zephyr used to be kenneled at night last winter, so we didn't have to close our bathroom door (that dope gets into everything and chews it to heck). Well, without a vent in there and being at the corner of the house, it all makes sense that this particular room is especially chilly in the mornings.

So, we leave it open now and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I'm busy with soup and packing tape. Stay warm out there! Happy Thursday: can you believe Christmas is in a week?

168: Blue Winter

Yesterday's snow seemed unreal: that fluffy sort that blows away in your cupped hands, the kind that sparkles at night, that is kicked up by the snow blower in moments, that belongs in department store windows.

I love this blue of winter.

I'm loving wool blankets.

I'm loving the new cookbook I picked up at work today: Minnesota Homegrown. I started reading the introductory essay by Garrison Keillor as the last few minutes of my shift slipped by and I loved what he said here:

"But the greatest prize is for the boy hoeing the tomatoes who reaches down and rescues one and wipes the dust off and bites into it. That is pure pleasure, a privilege offered to few, and after it, you will never be happy with any tomato you buy in a store. You hold it to your nose and there is no tomatoness there whatsoever. It was bred for shelf life and strip-mined in Mexico, or the Imperial Valley of California, and artificially ripened, and now it has no more tomato essence than your shoe. This is why vinaigrette was invited: to provide some flavor for denatured vegetables."

The bookstore owner's daughter is returning from two years in publishing in New York City; she's looking for some adventures before she applies to the Iowa Writer's Workshop (in nonfiction), and will spend some time working on a nearby organic farm (which, it looks like, might just be next year's best CSA candidate for us) (after, she hopes to go over to China to teach for a year).

I'm loving these small pleasures in life: the box of oranges, the soft touch of bamboo knitting needles, the kiss before sleep and snuggling beneath down comforters, the floury mess on my pizza peel (and loving that book--thank you, Angie!), that fleeting winter light, how I wish I could hold it all in just a little bit longer.

PS: See more of the blue winter photo series here.

167

There's nothing like being nudged awake by your husband with the request: "Could you call a plumber?" If only it were the sink infuriated or one of the toilets, but alas, the shower comes at a trickle, and when I finally rouse myself from some strange dreams about this past semester, I find the head on a shelf and our basket of shower supplies scattered on the ground, the strange brontosaurus neck of our shower jutting out above me. A plumber is due, and while I wait, I thought I would check in here, my pajama'ed self enjoying the soft falling of wispy snow out the dining room window, the pleasure of oversleeping, the stacks of books surrounding me. Muffled in the background of my phone calling to the plumbing service were assumptions that something has frozen up, and I will not be surprised if this is so; the turnover in cold from backyard slush to snappy ice was awfully dramatic, even for these parts.

I'm thinking of the ice storm in the Northeast. There are some gorgeous pictures of it:
- icy branches
- encased asters
- i will admit
- the ice storm
- blue + white

We once visited my grandparents in Michigan--for Christmas? for Thanksgiving?--and power was lost for nearly a day. I was sick then, from something that stripped me of my insides and left me wallowing in the quilts, mostly unaware of the slow chill descending upon the house: their heat is electric. This means no showers, for there is no heat for the water, and a slow tick downward in temperature. I'm thinking of those in the Northeast: do some have electric heat too? We simply piled on the blankets and hoped the pipes wouldn't freeze.

And here I am, secretly having turned the heat up yesterday, "forgetting" to turn it down at night, and still, there is the possibility that it's frozen, this shower of ours.

166: December List

Links to original photos:

1. pine with ice, 2. winter's return, 3. Untitled, 4. persimmon,
5. roasted tomatoes, 6. Untitled, 7. crochet coasters, 8. pecan pie,
9. baby wristwarmers, 10.sourdough, 11. Resolve to write, 12. 853

Outside, it's that kind of cold that pains you, the sharp stab, the feeling of a whole-body headache. Saturday, our yard was melty, soupy even in the dog slush, and by Sunday evening, everything was wavy clumps of ice, a slickness that has not yet dissipated.

This December, of cold nights and holiday wrapping, I keep turning to:

- The above flickr images, among others, of course, by some people with awfully good eyes.
- Additionally, Shari's ice cracks and frost series.
- Re-joining the Card Society by purchasing many of what will probably be next year's holiday cards. (Too good of a deal to pass up: $175 worth of purchases in her shop, which is, sadly, closing in two days, will give you a free one year membership to the card society, which normally costs $148. OK, ok, so it's not something a graduate student can technically afford, but I absolutely adore her work and have justified it by calling it next year's holiday cards. That, at least, has some ring of practicality to it.)
- Toni Morrison's A Mercy.
- This amazing capture of the riots in Greece.
- This year's holiday cards. (In the mail today!)
- Wool: blankets and sweaters and coats, mostly.
- Advance Reader's copies: working part time seasonal at a bookstore that has such an enormous stock of these is a bit precarious for someone who's attempting to purge a home of clutter...
- Chai. Mmm, how I love thee.
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
- Baking bread: Vermont Cheddar, Cranberry, Zucchini...
- Collecting the books of the professors in the program. A winter break project.
- Finishing old projects that have been dramatically and impressively neglected and procrastinated upon. Setting reasonable goals: one day at a time.
- The relief of pine's green in the landscape. Pinecones, swaths of pine boughs, the smell of evergreen in the air.
- The smell of citrus on my hands. Clementine peels on empty plates.