it's sunday night with a cold wet rain falling. it's the night we put our garbage out. i can hear the scrape of the neighbor's plastic bins along the street. tom and i remind each other that it needs to be done. but neither of us wants to do the job. it's been a windy day, with bright sun and periodically the wind blew in rain. i hung white towels and linens on the line and they came in smelling of winter. and, although it's hard for me to admit openly, the scents of winter in my laundry are my favorite. they are fresh and distinct. i wrapped in my still damp towel after my late afternoon bath and kept my face in it, filling up with it's scent.there was football on tv while i ironed strips of fabric for quilts. and a fire in the fireplace. and we just returned from a neighborly gathering across the street. a potluck to which we contributed nothing but a bottle of wine. homemade perogies, baked beans, slow cooked bison, roasted root vegetables, apple/rhubarb crisp and apple cranberry cake. the children played upstairs in the loft under the eaves. some of us collected around the table, while others found softer seats. and we talked about our weekends and the upcoming week. recent happenings in the neighborhood. new phones. work.
a lovely day.

february. sluggish and cold. a blizzard with an accompanying snow day. the beginning of a new house renovation project. demo and planning. too much driving on snow-covered and slippery roads. hours of repetitive shoveling. frozen pantlegs and then once inside, wet pantlegs. a pile of baby quilts, finished and folded. wonderful long cozy hours in the studio cutting squares for quilts and watching mad men. middle of the week chili night with our neighbors that made it feel like a weekend on wednesday. my first haircut in 1o months. a wonderful book i forgot i had ordered, arrived. and now tom is playing the guitar and singing, ending the week perfectly. it's been a good week.

i am drowning in winter. being a grown-up is just too complicated sometimes. winter is a childhood pleasure. forts and snowballs and skating and sledding and snowmen and hot chocolate. the specialties of winter. the smell of wet wool, the scrapy sound of snowpants rubbing together, red chapped fingers & cheeks and peeling lips. and the slapping floppy sound of unfastened boots hurrying to or from school. i remember rushing to catch the bus to school, half running and sliding on the frozen puddles with an open coat and a bag of lunch, up the quarter mile tree-lined lane to the road from our house. the bus was extra creaky in the cold. and a few times it slid off the narrow gravel roads and into the ditch in heavy snow and ice. and we'd wait while one of the high school boys would walk to the nearest house to call for help before hitch-hiking home. and even when the bus was on schedule, it was usually dusk when i climbed off the bus and headed back up the lane in the late afternoon to the glowing windows of home. and i could smell the warmth of the kitchen before i reached the door. winter didn't seem difficult at all.

throughout the wintry months, i usually bask in the cozy cave of our house. i read by the fireplace, watch movies, drink tea, cut paper, make collage, and as always, build quilts. the more winter rages outside, the more content i feel. and although our mild winter has been anything but raging, i've come to a point this year where i need to feel some sun. warmth on my skin. grass between my toes. it's been at least a couple of months since i was barefoot in the yard and i'm beginning to dream about summer. i found this photo of our living room window looking into the yard and it stops my heart a little.....the open window. the smells of grass freshly cut and the trees flowering. the breeze off the lake with the lake scents. and the sounds.....the birds, the cats, the squirrels, the children, the boats and cars.....all of it wanders in the window with the breeze. i often notice the scents and sounds more when they drift in the window than when i'm outside in the midst of it all. maybe because the house is quieter and darker than the outside. i'm eager to breathe warm air again and to be awake with the sun at 6 am feeling fresh and ready for the day. just a few more months.....

the last week of the year may be my favorite. the magical delight that follows the excitement and rush and exhaustion that is christmas. a relaxed and dreamy week. the days when you gradually bring your home and your thoughts back to the humdrum of daily life. the air is snapping cold outside, but you bundle up to trudge through fields of snow or city streets or house filled neighborhoods just to do it. there are video games to play and new dvds to watch and books to read. and lots of football and hockey on tv. the kitchen is full of all sorts of food just waiting to be snacked on. and occasionally dragging out the vaccuum doesn't even feel like a chore. there is a fire smoldering in the fireplace most of the time and everyday feels like the weekend. this is how i bid farewell to the past year and welcome the new, with a week of sundays.

my mind is foggy. it has been letting the most commonplace sensations take me traveling, taking me for the briefest moment to another place in my memory. and i simply find myself there, standing in it and letting it rush around me. i've been going to paris lately. maybe it's the mild winter weather we've been having. damp and not too cold. the other day, my deodorant, a crisp, fresh, sporty sort of scent flung me to paris. and the diesel exhaust of a bus passing has been filling my lungs with paris the last few weeks. it isn't unpleasant. it carries youth into me, briefly, and a little tremble in my heart. i love carrying those years with me, so close to my skin. the joy of walking streets with camera and pen, of wandering with little purpose and loving everything i find. all the dreams without the disappointment.

my studio sits on the sidewalk. it's a closeness to the street that i love. the window openings are where people walk by with such closeness that it makes me feel i could momentarily drift into their lives. and there are seasonal differences to how they pass the windows. in the winter people are hunched, often with their heads down, pushing themselves forcibly towards a destination. their shape is different. the pace is quick with a determined and hurried intent. but in the spring, summer and fall, people have a more open stance. they meet the day. there is an upright carriage and less desperate pace. some may walk with the same speed, but people look in to the day, face it, let it brush against their skin. the winter stance seems to be hiding, protecting, folding oneself away. and that isn't needed in the warmer months.
so i'll watch the neighbors pass my windows with a tightened gait and discern the coming of warmer days as i sense the loosening of the steps that breeze past.

now that winter is fully and completely here, the nights are cozy and snuggly and sleepy. we have fires and quilts and slippers. a cup of tea sits naturally beside my book. and my winter reading is a completely different sport from it's summer cousin. winter books are slow and thick and dense, always face down on a sofa or chair waiting to be picked up for a few minutes or an hour. and a cat usually curls on my leg. tom watches hockey and nostalgic 1960s christmas specials on tv. and we go to bed early. this is how we get used to winter.

this weekend it became winter. snow fell and stayed on the ground. boots and hats and mittens became a necessity. and the air doesn't harbor a trace of gentleness any longer.....it's sharp and cold, while the night sky is pink with it's snowy wintry glow. when i slipped into bed last night at 11 the sky was the same hue as when edgar forced me out of bed and down the stairs this morning at 5. like a red silk scarf has been flung over the moon.

when the waves in the harbour are no longer slapping on the boats, making them sway and tip and lean, that is the change of season for me. they were all out this afternoon when tom & i took edgar tripping around the harbour and along the stone walls of the prison. only the coast guard and the st. lawrence ll were still afloat. when all the boats are paralyzed on their perches and bandaged in tarps or shrink wrap, with no optimistic lone brothers bobbing in the november waves, it's time for winter to begin. it takes about 6 weeks to empty the entire harbour, folding each vessel into it's winter hold. the cycle of summer is ended for now and will start finding itself again in the spring when the boats are mobile.

this evening i started my winter journey. since the time i was searching for my own direction in my mid-twenties i've wanted to read proust. i was intrigued with him. and i knew that the people who's lives i read about and obsessed on had also been intrigued with him. i outgrew many of those personalities, but not my distant interest in marcel proust. he is pointedly french. and his work circles in and around the parisian and provincial life. gallic. and since my life in france, so many years ago, i feel that connection profoundly. i've started reading swann's way many times. but a few weeks ago for my birthday, tom gave me the entire set of volumes.....everything together waiting for me to become part of them. the past weeks have been so busy with the house, i've wanted to settle in during the rainy evenings and start reading....but i waited until tonight. the house is listed, and i now feel free to start this new project. i'm hoping to read 25 pages a day and while the winter away with proust. i'll let you know how it goes. À la recherche du temps perdu.

winter garden

the garden calls to me in the winter with a full deep voice. sultry. seducing me. making me twirl with desire. so that i am desperate to feel warm earth under my nails. and when may warms my skin, i dig and rake and trim and haul. and then rarely touch the garden after the june lavender harvest. until february leaves me spinning and frantic to garden again.