Although I grumbled my way back to the house, where sure enough the coffee was sitting (still hot) on the dining room table, I couldn’t help but be thankful for Erik’s gentle spirit. A little thing like a forgotten cup of coffee could have soured both of our days. Instead, now I have a silly but sweet memory to tuck away like the Christmas ornaments. Thank you Erik, I love you so much.
The wind chimes are singing outside. The notes are crisp and sharp in the frigid air. With the temperature so low, I wish they were still and silent. I’m thankful at such times that our house is solid and the wind doesn’t whistle through. These are good days to bundle up with a good book and a warm kitty. Scooter is usually convinced that an opened book is just a place for him to lie down. It’s hard to explain library etiquette to a 17 lb cat.
We have a new bird feeder in the back. It’s a small tube feeder with just two stations on it. It’s filled with black oil sunflower seed, and it’s hanging from a
splash (no more) of milk.
As I pulled up to the station to drop him off, I reached for the coffee only to find the holder empty. That perfect cup was nowhere to be found. Erik smiled and assured me that I shouldn’t worry. He would be fine and would pick up some coffee inside the station. I was to go and have a good day. A kiss, a wave and we headed in opposite directions.
January 9, 2004
Erik and I spent New Year’s Day with Mimi and her family. It was quiet and comfortable and there are times that I think I could do commercial endorsements for these family get-togethers. Let’s see, good food (thank you Mimi and Robert), good conversation (Mimi
and I always chat up a storm), and excellent entertainment especially when there is a teenager in the house (Miss Sophie B.). When you add this to Juliet’s infectious smiles and sweet laughter the day is as close to perfection as you can get. Mimi and I kept the biggest decision to “Which tea should we have with dessert??” Ah, bliss.
With the holidays now safely tucked into our memories, and the last of the ornaments safely tucked into boxes we
I’m going to read more, doggone it!!
I’m not going to feel guilty when I buy yet another book for our already herniated bookshelves.
Ok, I think that about covers it. It’s simple and understated.
Now I can sit back and finally enjoy a year without all the anxiety of trying to reach the unreachable. So far, it’s working and I highly recommend this approach to January.
It’s cold out today. Not just chilly, it’s downright fur-lined underginchie cold. The temperature has dropped into the teens, and when you add the wind factor, the air feels raw against your face in the morning. There is no snow on the ground, and now because I’ve said that in print I’ve probably doomed us with a blizzard!! I will update if that happens because I would be so impressed with my ability to predict something other than “The cat is going to be sick!!”
We head out to the station just before 6 am so that Erik can catch the train into the city. On such mornings it makes me feel good that I prepare a lovely hot steaming coffee for him to sip on the train. Two mornings ago was no exception. Four scoops of beans into the grinder, coffee pot on, 2 and ½ teaspoons of sugar (my, how I envy a man that trim, that he can use 2 and ½ teaspoons of sugar, but now I digress) and a
look forward to this New Year before us.
I have no unattainable resolutions for 2004, nothing that I’m going to publish for the entire free world to chortle, chuckle and guffaw at. That much is certain. There are enough lists like that already. Besides, I’ve decided to strive for what I think is better in the long run anyhow.
More family days like the 1st are a must!!
shepherd’s hook. So far there haven’t been any takers, but as with all living things, there is a “gettin’ used to” period, a time of adjustment if you will. I think we tend to be like those birds when January arrives. Change comes slow, and there’s a desire to sit back awhile and get used to the idea of a new year and a new month.
On cold winter nights I can remember my dear Papa
sitting in his chair. It was the only time of the year that I remember him actually taking that time to sit and rest. Papa was a worker, and he never seemed to slow down. Don’t get me wrong about that; he never complained, never. In the fireplace a warm glow would crackle and spit, and flames would curl and stir over dry wood. Papa would have in his lap a small bowl and a couple of sweet red Macs and in his hand, the paring knife. He would sit quietly, while slowly peeling and slicing the apples. I can close my eyes and hear Papa say, “Do you want a piece Shell?? He always knew I did. It’s funny how much a Papa can know about his girl. When I was little, I thought he only knew about the apples. It wasn’t until I was grown that I realized he knew me inside out.
It’s dark now, and the only thing I can see from my window is the light from the neighbor’s house. There is a dog barking in the distance. I hope he has a nice warm bed inside tonight. The big black stray cat can still be seen and on cold nights like this I wonder where he goes to escape the unrelenting cold. Last night Erik heard a noise outside by our back door. When he went to investigate, he found the big black stray cat. As soon as he realized that he had been spotted however, he disappeared into the night once more.
Scooter is snoozing on the rocking chair. I have an afghan draped over the back and he snuggles against it. His tummy is full, and he is a warm and happy boy. All kitties should have it thus.
Perhaps later tonight as Erik and I sit on the couch I will bring out a bowl with a couple of apples. It’s always a good time to make memories.
Happy New Year from Butternut Grove,
Love, Shelley
January 22, 2004
"We need time to dream, time to remember, and time to reach the infinite. Time to be."
--Gladys Taber--
We haven’t had birds at the feeders for a number of days. I was certain there was a hawk in the area keeping them at bay, but in reality it coincided with the bitter cold weather that we’ve been experiencing here in Westchester County. It’s odd to look out the windows and see the feeders so quiet. If it hadn’t been for the rabbit and squirrel tracks where the seed falls to the ground it would have been a lonely sight indeed.
I love the birds, and I miss them when they’re not around. Scooter misses them too and since they’ve been away he’s found other places to haunt. He’s left Nanny’s Blankie in the big bay window for the time being. (Nanny should not take this personally however.) Days when the sun has shone bright, he lies on the rug in the girls’ room. He manages to stretch himself out so that he can soak up as much sun as possible. When he does this I am surprised at just how long he really is. I check in on him once in a while and he rolls over, chirps a hello and slips back into slumber. Oh, but the life of a cat is a noble thing.
It’s commonplace to see a deer or two when you’re out driving in this area, and as the temperatures plummet they become that much bolder in their search for food. With the extra snow, there is added salt on the roads and they are especially attracted to the runoff as part of their diet. As such, we’ve been seeing large numbers of deer up close and personal for the past couple of weeks.
For the longest time the Sweet Potatoes have been telling me that they had spotted a black deer along the Taconic. This would always be a time when I wasn’t in the car with them, and I have to admit that I’ve been rather dubious as to whether or not the elusive black deer existed.
A few days ago when Erik was driving me home from work there was a small group of deer feeding on an incline alongside the road. In the midst of them was one that stood out and sure enough on closer inspection it was a darker color than the rest. It was the girls’ “black deer”, a lovely creature, perfect in every way, just a different color. I was totally taken aback, and purely delighted at the same time. I was however disappointed in myself that I had doubted the girls. We tend to reach an age where we question or dismiss completely the sweet logic of a child, thinking that if we’ve never seen it before then it can’t exist. I’m anxious to tell Cassandra and Rebecca that I too have seen the black deer.
When the air is icy and cold the night sky is magic. Clear and crystalline and stars set like tiny jewels in deep blue velvet, the sky is awash in what can only be described as sun-drenched moonlight. The snow on the ground crunches as I walk on it and the wind whistles through the trees stirring the branches. They dance and sway in the chill to keep warm. I try not to think of the cold, only the loveliness around me. I cannot help but wonder if on such a night Robert Frost sat by a warm fire and penned a winter poem.
STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
The day is darkening, and I realize my own “promises to keep”. There are things that need tending to, and as I listen to the wind chimes singing outdoors, Scooter rubs against my leg. Looking up and letting out a distinct and very loud “Rawrrrrr” he lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is his dinner time too.
I’ll put the kettle on for a hot cup of tea while I prepare our evening meal. Perhaps I’ll sneak in a biscuit with that tea. Scooter won’t tell. I’m sure of it. Hot tea on a cold winter afternoon is comfort at its best.
Mom (my grandmother) enjoyed tea and I well remember her face as she would sit at the end of the day with a hot cup by her side and the day’s newspaper in her hand. Sometimes on the coffee table, there would be Butter Tarts or Digestive Biscuits on a plate.
Mom worked long days in town, and then worked into the late evening at home. Papa started his days when it was dark and ended them when it was dark. Their evening quiet time together was a precious thing. To me those were sweet, pleasant nights. If I am very still and I close my eyes I still see them sitting there in my thoughts, my Mom and my Papa. Sometimes I sit with them, and we have our tea together.
Sometimes I just sit and listen, and remember.
May all of your todays be the sweet and pleasant memories of tomorrow.
