Friday, January 21, 2011


Who decided that Hell was flames and burning souls?   The Hell of my imagination is frigid cold, much like the weather outside my window.  It even makes more sense:  removed from the warmth of God.  I suppose I'm being a bit melodramatic?

My ordinary chores in moderate cold take a good half hour, if no one is dying or diseased.  Today, I added to that chopping ice, as it is so cold that even the heated water tank is freezing.  After plowing the driveway (and yes, I am of the privileged with a tractor to do it, rather than by hand), my feet were blocks of ice.   I was not dressed as a socialite horsewoman.  No, I wore my husband's XL Carhart jacket over my coat and overalls, making me about as visually appealing as a Siberian babushka.  

As I shoveled this morning, I thought that this winter is a test of faith:  faith to remember those warm summer days when I rode horses with my husband, when we came over the hill and wondered aloud if anyone was so blessed to live in such a place as we.  Faith to remember the horses rolling in the pasture or finding the first egg of a new chicken.  Can I remember those times?  Can I have faith they'll be back?  Can I, in the darkness and coldness of winter, know that I'll make it through and feel again the warm sun?

Jefferson continues to improve, although his lungs sound wheezy in the morning.  

My dad, who has been hospitalized, gets out Sunday!  Yay, Dad!

Finished reading:


Watched at the theater:
True Grit

Watching on Netflix:


Fatcat said...

That warmth is sounding good about now, isn't it? I've been so cold!

Cloudia said...

Yay Dad. . .

Yay YOU!

Aloha from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral



Junosmom said...

Yes, Fatcat, it sounds really good. Just got back inside. My chin is frozen.

Yay, Dad, indeed! Aloha, Cloudia!

That Janie Girl said...

Stay warm and well, my friend. Good news about your Dad!


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