Snowed In, Under and Through

It's a good thing we have three months worth of food storage, because I get all my storm warnings from mid-Atlantic coworkers and never know whether to take them seriously or not. (Given the amount of fretting that accompanies every snowy forecast, you might get the mistaken impression that it does not snow here--multiple times--every single winter.) Anyway, it looks like this time they were right. Earlier in the week, my Saturday plans included a long, exploratory walk in the woods. Saturday morning, about 7am, those plans got thrown out the window:
I heard we got somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 inches, to the great pleasure of my Michigan bride:
One of our neighbors has access to snow plow, and must have plowed our driveway in the middle of the night, because there was only about 15 inches of snow covering the driveway when we went to dig ourselves out. I don't think he even knows our names, and this is the second time this winter he's plowed our driveway.

I remember one particular winter in Utah, the drifts were halfway up the doors and we could hardly get close enough to deliver the newspapers along our route. I also remember waking up to ice storms in Connecticut, with all the tree branches translucent and bent low to the ground. I think storms must find a place in everyone's memory--the astonishment at how quickly the world can change around us.
In spite of all that, the big drifts are already sagging in the sun. My forecast: two weeks of wet socks.

Pinewood Derby

First place champion, yeah baby.

Kudos also go to Dad's hard work polishing axles, meticulously drilling and scraping holes for the weights, and sawing and sanding by hand.

Winter Blankets

These pictures are mainly for my mom, but also for anyone else who cares about my fledgling quilt-making efforts. I know many of my relatives regularly crank out multiple quilts (Tiff's recent blog as evidence), but this still took enough effort for my busy self to feel like a big deal. I've sewn plenty of clothes at this point but this was my first first quilt, so I was gratified that Nora loves it.

And I also finally finished crocheting a blanket I started in October of 2008, and dubbed it S.'s Christmas present.


Here's to feeling loved when wrapped in a homemade blanket -- love you all!

Shelter from the Cold

I was reading recently that loneliness, as a perceived state of being, exhibits many of the same characteristics as a contagious disease. When someone in a social network begins expressing feelings of loneliness or isolation, other people in the network start to feel the same way. The effects of this can spread as far as three degrees of separation. The theory is that people who feel lonely tend to turn even further inward, and thus will treat their immediate friends and family with less generosity. This leads to some perverse outcomes. Most lonely people I know are lonely for reasons largely out of their control, with the loneliest people often the ones least understood--those struggling with clinical depression, loss of family, socioeconomic differences, or simply not knowing how to fit in. It seems heartless to say that if they are lonely, they should not tell anyone they are. Still, the research might suggest that the best antidote for feeling lonely is to act as if you are not. To succumb is to make matters worse for everyone.

I feel some hesitation, then, in recognizing that both K. and I probably tend towards the lonely road. K. has a form of attention deficit disorder that makes it more likely that her first reaction to something will be negative, and makes it harder for her to pick up on social cues. According to the medical literature, those with this kind of ADD often find themselves in a lifelong struggle to make friends without understanding why. I come from a family of introverts and often sense my pool of kindred spirits to be relatively small. I don't know what charisma consists of, but I know enough to recognize it in other people and enough to know that we probably don't have it.

It sometimes seems to me that there are people who can move into a new place and immediately begin to attract close friends and peers with enviable facility. I don't think we have ever been those people, nor do I fully understand them. To me, they move with the easy confidence of people who know where they belong, but perhaps they too feel the tender ache of isolation. I couldn't say. I often admire these people, but I don't fully know their hearts.

This is all prelude, and what I really want to say is this: K. and I have now been married for eleven years, and there is not a day when I don't thank God for the privilege of knowing her and of being known. I have no list of reasons for loving K. I simply do. We fit. We are partners. She is my equal and my match. From time to time each of us will feel the sting of unrequited friendship, but never from each other, and always with the consolation that true, companionate love has never eluded us. Her love for me has never been conditional, and it never feels right to give her anything less than my complete acceptance. There may be more than one secret to marital happiness, but that has been ours. Happy anniversary, and praise all that is good.

Lucy Keeps Asking, "Is it winter?"

Lucy's preschool teacher apparently informed her that it wasn't officially winter, so she was very confused on December 19th...

(You can see the rectangular decorative door-marks there in the packed snow if you look carefully).

We realize many of our blog readers have seen snow before, but this is also for the benefit of the grandparents in snowless climes. We invite you to enjoy all the white without the puddles tracked in and the baggies of snowballs saved in the freezer!

These bushes outside this window had been trimmed to sill-level. And in fact, on the back deck, our informal gauge of how deep it was getting was Nora's tricycle, which eventually was completely covered. One handlebar was the last holdout, but finally went under by morning.

School was canceled for the remaining two days before the holiday break was due to start, so we're delighting in extra time to bake cookies, sing Christmas carols, and scuttle around the house with secretive looks on our faces. (Or in my case, occasional worried looks when I can't remember where I've hidden something.)

We're having a white Christmas, baby!