Dreamin'

This is the time of year for new: new calendar, new year, new resolutions. Fresh starts are practically a cultural mandate, and as a society of movers and shakers, of doers extraordinaire, we excel at the New Year's resolution. Rather, we excel at making the resolutions, but by January 20th most (though not all) of us have shredded our New Year's lists, or at least buried them in the backs of our journals.

Many resolutions seem to focus on corrective behaviors--we notice a trend we don't like (weighing five pounds more than last year at this time) and vow to reverse it, with a vengeance (I will lose ten pounds this year). This makes a fair bit of sense to me. I mean, if I'm making myself do something I really don't want to do in the first place, then I might as well go for the gold, right?

Not so much, it turns out.

The trouble with this type of resolution is that it brings out the very worst in me. I become a competitive, judgmental, resentful, lonely perfectionist. Ick. I've finally come to the conclusion that no goal, no matter how well intentioned, is worth that. So, what's a girl to do?

The options are many, but last year this particular girl resolved to ditch the resolutions and went dreaming instead. In the fashion of Jen Lemen, I created my very own dream list. They were big ones, and most have yet to be realized, but I'm okay with that. Having a dream come true is a wonderful thing, but it's the dreaming itself that's miraculous. 

Nine Dreams for 2009 (thanks to Karen at Chookooloonks for this one)

1.  As a recovering doer, I'd like to create space in the days, weeks, and months of 2009 for reflection, for being.

2.  I'd like to see some of my words in print.

3.  I'd like to take joy in the remainder of The Furrball's life and weather his death with grace.

4.  I'd like to make a new friend this year.

5.  I'd like to do something with the overgrown jungle that is our yard. Actually, as long as I'm dreaming, I'd like someone else to do something about our yard.

6.  I'd like to find a church home this year.

7.  I'd like to perfect a few dairy-free cookie recipes.

8.  I'd like my work to be an encouraging, hopeful part of my life, not be my life.

9.  And last but not least, it sure would be nice to finally install flooring on the second floor. The subfloor works and all, but carpeting up there might just make my year.

What are you dreaming for 2009?

The Big Thaw

Good thing it (finally) warmed up. He was getting a little chilled.

Forecast

It was supposed to rain today. This sure is prettier.

So is this.

Merry Christmas

Today's forecast was for snow turning to rain this afternoon. It currently appears as if the above-freezing temperatures have vacated the area. We may be in for a white Christmas after all. I'm kind of looking forward to the possibility, even if it means shoveling, yet again.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Blessings of joy and hope to each of you.

Digging Out

As much as I'm writing about it lately, you might think I've never seen snow. On the contrary, I grew up in western Michigan, near the lake, and spent the first six years of my married life in Vermont. I'm no stranger to snow.

It's just that when we moved to the Pacific Northwest seven and a half years ago, I was certain I'd never need to touch a snow shovel again. Alas, I've been proven wrong.

Proof

that it's still cold here.

that the best antidote for a cold morning is a sweet, warm, just-baked cinnamon roll.

that The Furrball patrols the far reaches of his territory—no matter the weather.

that The Furrball prefers napping

to portraiture.

More Snow!

My siblings who live in Michigan's Upper Peninsula chuckle and shake their heads. "You actually bought a snow shovel to remove this? There's hardly enough there to bother brushing it away with your boot!"

Yes, well. What can I say? I left my boots back in Vermont too.

Skating at Grandpa's

Skating at Grandpa’s
for Grandpa Carl

Elaine must have been there,
Eric, Angela, likely Daniel,
as we called him then,
but I only remember sliding,
twirling about with Kelly.

And Grandpa, I remember
Shoveling, scraping to find the layer of
Compacted snow riding the ice of the winter
pond, hosing it down, watering to make it
Grow into the skating rink of our dreams

Evening out the surface
Making our rubber-soled boots
The fastest skates in New Harrison, Ohio.
I remember mittens, hand-knit scarves
And icy exhalations

Cartoon starts and crashes
Giggles, belly laughs
Grandpa’s teeth flashing bright
In his chiseled, farmer face—
A hard, working man, playing.

It’s only now Grandpa, I wonder
When did you start scraping the pond,
Preparing for our visit, for those few hours
We played in the wonderland skate park
You designed specially for us?

All It Takes Is a Little Space

nowhere

now here

Iced In

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we don't get many days when the temperature drops below the point when water magically transforms into ice. And even less frequently do we get consecutive days of the same. Consequently, we do not own a snow shovel, nor does the city deem it necessary to plow or sand our street.
Yes, folks, that's our icy street, and we haven't owned studded snow tires since we left Vermont. All that to say, I'm home today and won't be going out, if I can help it, any time in the near future.

There are all sorts of projects that could use my attention, but it's mid-December, so there really wasn't any point in doing anything other than beginning the holiday baking.

Trouble is, these cookies are my new favorite, and if I don't stop snitching them, our friends' Christmas packages will be a little empty this year.

And a Few More

Tree Trimming

Grandma Mariam gave her grandkids ornaments, mostly handmade, each Christmas. She liked crafty things—beads, paint, stitchery of all kinds, crochet—and our yearly Christmas tree reflects her love of handmade as well as of us.

For the first time in my adult life there won't be a new Christmas ornament from Grandma this year. Oddly, this realization didn't occur to me until we opened the Christmas box this weekend. I might have thought of it at her funeral back in April or any other time in the intervening months, but I didn't. Out of regret and sadness, I had a fleeting desire to close the Christmas box back up, but that was quickly overcome by the excitement of remembering her as I traced my fingers over the ornaments she made.

Some are kitschy, some beautiful, but all were given in love. And in love and in Grandma's memory, I placed them all on our tree.

Post-Thanksgiving Album