Jan 15

Twice in the night Daisy wanted to go outside.

Coat over pjs,

wool hat,

slip-on shoes with no socks,

out into the 1 degree night,
no wind,

Orion above,

the snow crunching like gunshots underfoot.

Both times she stands in the snow

and stares into the woods.

She forgets where she is.

She's cold.

She climbs back onto the porch wanting in.

She hasn't done what she set out to do.

Now she wants her night time treat.

So do I.

Ah, to do what you want to do, (go to bed)

To avoid doing what you do not wish to do, (harm Daisy)

To undo that which you have already done, (dressed for winter)

And a fourth tenet that I seem to have forgotten.

Jan 14

Shovel or ski?

Both.

Jimmy shovels and snow blows with Daisy.

Julie skis

This is where she's going.

This is where she's been.

Jan 13

Well, that was fun.

Where would you like to be snowed in?

We chose the lake, with the fireplace, rather than the home with the tractor.

Snow couldn't help but creep in through the cracks in the northeast corner. The weatherman said we didn't make it as a blizzard since the winds were sustained at 35 mph for only 2 hours, and it needs 3 for the definition. Horizontal snow. Daisy still went out frivolously and stared into the wind like a seagull.

Jan 12

Will it be finger pointing with a verbal gun noise, or benign disregard?

1/11/11

Two Vietnam verterans became legends in river rafting circles when they put in at Marsh Creek, a tributary that flowed into the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and floated the whole Middle Fork to the Salmon River of No Return in Idaho. Their heaviest load was the alcohol they carried. In various states on intoxication, they identified Velvet Falls as they went over it, they ripped the raft hitting the cliffs at Pistol Creek where the river made a 90 degree turn, they survived a snow storm in wet sleeping bags by the grace and heat of the dog that slept between them, and they returned to tell their story. They had only one rule: You must be on the river by 11:11.

Oooh, 1/11/11 at 11:11.

Armistice Day WWI, Balance, Artistic and Inventive Genius,
A positive connection to the mysteries of the universe,
et al.

Jan 10

I played Hungarian and a Sonatina by Clementi. It's funny how the hands fight each other for dominance on the keys, the right stumbling over the fingering and the left ponderous in the bass range. My favorite are the trills. Like patting your stomach with your left hand and rubbing your head with your right.

Jan 9

These Macintosh apples have been languishing in the fruit and vegetable drawer since October. Maybe the deer would make better use of them. Daisy and I will check it out in a couple days to see if there are any remains.

Jan 8

108 Sun Salutations

That's what one yoga teacher was leading on the morning of New Year's Day. It seemed like a good idea. After just 5 sun salutations the sweat poured off my forehead, burning my eyes like sun gazing might do, if I'd ever done that.

One week into the new year and there are 28 sun salutations completed so far. Eighty more to go. Could be February by the time it's finished. But the results so far include an increase in minutes of daylight, strengthening of the shoulder girdle, an effort to keep the carpet vacuumed at the site of the asana, and an appreciation for someone even thinking they could do 108 repetitions at one time.

The Sun God chants, "Rah, Rah, Rah!"

Jan 7

The Day After Epiphany
Two Days After Twelfth Night
What if things were easier than you thought?
Pay attention!
I resolve to ______________________.

Twelfth Night marks the end of Christmas or winter carnival beginning on Halloween. It was considered in poor taste or unlucky to leave the Christmas wreaths hanging on display after Epiphany.

When living in Vermont and driving somewhere, I would use a pointer finger combined with a verbal gun noise, and shoot wreaths still hanging on houses or barns. It wasn't a drive just to shoot wreaths, but a drive to work or to the grocery store. It rose to the level of compulsion, like washing hands obsessively or avoiding stepping on sidewalk cracks.

All that has (mostly) passed, and you can be sure that there are no Christmas wreaths remaining on the doors or walls of this place.

This is a Valentine's Wreath.

Jan 6

The ice machine in the refrigerator's freezer groans when making ice cubes like it's being asked to do something beyond its capacity. Unlike the refrigerator's ice machine, the lake's ice maker dons its perfect gym suit in winter. Not a problem to boom, creak, shake the house at night, as it pushes against itself to make more room for its frozen bulging muscles.

The measurements of the ice runway average 9 inches with a range of 7.5 to 10 inches. Plenty, I'm told, to hold an airplane weighing almost a ton. But I am frozen to the sofa reading a book and drinking a cuppa, with a sense of ease here that is not felt in the airplane on skis on ice that's 9 inches thick. Maybe another day.

Jan 5

One of the characters, Bharavi, is a Fire Goddess in the Hindu realm. She really would like to go for an airplane ride, but smoke curls off her shoulders when she's stressed. And what if the flight attendants thought there was a fire on the aircraft? What then?

For Christmas, the novelist received this card holder that looks more like a cigarette holder. Maybe this was for Bharavi.

Jan 4

Last night was the first time at the gym for 2011. I stumbled upon pizza night, and the place was mobbed with ravenous, slavering people costumed in gym clothes. The tootsie rolls on the counter by the registers are bad enough. But pizza!
I resolve to think about eating pizza every week after playing piano. (See Jan 3)

Jan 3

I resolve to play piano once a week.

This includes the Hungarian Rhapsody, the Skaters Waltz, and Alley Cat.

Lessons Repeat Themselves

Lesson One:
Loosen your grip.

This applies to Golf, Suturing, Aviation, Expectations, Business, Crossstitching, Friendship, Shoveling Snow, Driving, Family, Friendship Bracelets, Weight Loss, Writing In Cursive, Skiing...

The dew point has a tight grip on the temperature today. (And) Hence, dense fog.

Happy New Year!