I am rather enamoured with the first real snow of the season.

This morning I woke up with the first strains of dawn coming in the bedroom window. My arms felt like ice to the touch, they were on top of the blankets, bare. I remember thinking it was strange to feel so cold beneath my down comforter and then I looked out the window and saw the slow fall of white on white (each one of those crystals is unique, can you imagine?). I rubbed my feet together. I imagine, when we have all the windows replaced on our house next week, that it won’t be quite as cold in the bedroom during the bewitching hours and days and weeks and months of winter. I might miss that a bit. There’s nothing this old lady codger loves more than a good, icy draft and a nose tip that feels glacier cold.

In the meanwhile, I’ve been trying to find all sorts of wickedly crafty things to do today. So far, I’ve eaten sushi for lunch and answered emails. Somebody please, give me something naughty to do.

I could catch a squirrel and put it in Sue’s mailbox. I could tie Penelope and Pinkerton together and then throw pine cones for them to chase. I could prank phone call my parents and tell them that all the horses got loose and have climbed into the foundation of the new barn they are building. But what I’ll probably do is hunker down and write a few letters, drink more tea, package up the jewels that need to be shipped out this afternoon and I’ve been planning on embellishing a dark blue, wool winter coat for weeks now. I should pull out the sewing machine.

I’m such a bore. The good news is that I think I have officially adjusted to having RW home after having him away for 6 months during the fire season. It takes some time for me to acclimate to another person in the house at all times. I’ll bet that sounds strange. I live a fairly isolated life in the summertime and when fall rolls around, the sudden appearance of my husband in my life again comes as a bit of a jolt. Additionally, I’ve been so doggone topsy turvy these past three weeks that I feel like I’ve been pinging off the walls of life. Living hasn’t been half-bad, but I’ve struggled and struggled and struggled (like I’m climbing K2 with a gorilla on my back) with settling into work in the studio. I think this is, in part, why the finished pieces I’ve been turning out have been so varied, not to mention the pile of half completed projects I have strewn about my work surfaces. I’m not sad. I’m not mad. I’m not depressed. I’m not tired. I’m just a ferociously kinetic ball of potential energy. It’s like someone was building a circuit board and forgot to close the system so I’m simply a patch of fizzing, white lighting shooting up and down the line until I fling myself out and up into thin air and dissipate. I’ll make your hair stand on end and when I’m done shocking you, you’ll stick to the wall.