On Sunday night, the snow came down and coated our homestead in several inches. It has been utterly beautiful. I love the snow. I love the muffled, glittering quiet that comes with it. The traffic noise shrinks to almost nothing, the horses breathe steam into the cold air and stand quietly in the bright sun, and only Ruckus has endless energy to go leaping across the pristine white cotton lawn.
My chickens, who are recovering from the loss of two of the hens to hawk attacks recently, and who are comforted with the dashing new rooster, Allan-a-dale, hid in the hen house while the snow surrounded their run. Occasionally a brave individual would hop up to the pop door and examine the chances of going outside, only to report back that was still colder than balls out there, and they would chatter for a while before hunkering down in the hay. Bless them, they are laying like champions despite the cold.
The snow gave me some frustrations, as I rescheduled clients and slipped and flailed on the icy driveway. There have been countless reports of vehicles in ditches and off the roads, crashes, collisions, slides, school closures, road closures and all kinds of disaster. It is just like Britain on this side of the mountains – the snow just about shuts the whole county down.
Cowboy feels totally at home with the winter whiteout. He insisted I learn how to drive in the snow, as he refuses to be part of the snow paralysis and won’t let me get away with it either. I tiptoed my way around town today, driving the big pickup truck so that at least I would have 4 wheel drive if I needed it, and if anybody else was idiotic enough to hit me, I would be fine – and it nearly happened, so I was glad to be in the beast. The main roads are not bad now, but our little dead end street is an ice rink.
In the cosy corner of my living room, I began to surprise myself. I compiled a Christmas card list. Then I actually wrote Christmas cards to everybody on the list. Today, I put them all in the post! What the heck?! I’ve never been this ahead of the game at Christmas time before. This afternoon, I cleared the kitchen and set about making – yes, making – Christmas gifts for some friends and family. Homemade lip balm, sore muscle rub, Epsom salt soak, and shortbread. Fancy shortbread, mind you. I had to put the second batch on hold while I roast supper, as I’m not sure pork fat would enhance the shortbread flavour in any way.
I sat down here to blog – haaaaa, because I’m so diligent about blogging – and took a quick check on how I’m doing with this whole Christmas thing, and continued to be surprised. Decorations are up, mostly, including a real tree. Christmas cards are done. Gifts are pretty well under control, and not wildly expensive. I have wrapping paper and ribbons, and tape! I’m fully equipped this year. How did this happen?
I’ve been managing to produce a real supper for Cowboy and I on a fairly regular basis, planning ahead, and using up food well before use by dates (and, more accurately, before the “grows microorganisms date”). I’ve tried new recipes that he actually approved, and I think I will need to start a new Pinterest board called “Cowboy Approved” so I can keep track. It’s all going so well… Why?
Perhaps it’s the influence of my new “work” space that I’ve managed to scrape together in the spare room. I convinced Cowboy to help me move a precarious glass desk that the previous owners left in the loft down into the spare bedroom. There is still space for my massage table, but now I have a place to sit, comfortably-ish, and be away from the TV and the distractions of the main living space. It’s a work in progress, and I expect it will become a pile of papers and a generic dumping ground within the next few weeks, and I’ll get frustrated and decide I need it relocated.
I’m not sure what it is, and I’m deeply suspicious. Deeply, deeply suspicious. I’m hoping that the gigantic mouth ulcer that I’m enduring is the karmic balance to all of this productivity. It is so bad, it has driven me to take co-codamol, which means I can’t feel my whole head most of the time, let alone my ulcerated jaw. Perhaps that’s what it is. I’m just high as a kite on painkillers, and everything seems fabulous.