in between

We are in that post Christmas, pre-New Year period. Vestiges of one, not quite ready to move to the next. This is the time when you most want to send the kids out to run wild in the back yard, but of course this year, you can't send them out because it's too damn cold.

And it will just turn colder tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

This does not concern Ed. He does nearly everything from his home base here, at the farmette. He doesn't ever have to stay out long -- hence his love of shorts, which keep him plenty warm inside the farmhouse, especially when he throws a quilt over his bare legs. When asked if going out to the barn in the evening chills him, he'll shrug and say -- women had bare legs for very many decades, all year long.
I'll retort -- they wore nylon stockings, which do offer some protection. Besides, they had no choice. You could be wearing fuzzy sweat pants right now. They could not.
Hairy legs are as good as nylons.

Okay, Ed.

Breakfast. Yes, in shorts. No socks either. Ed is always barefooted. Does not own slippers.





In the afternoon, I'm to go to Snowdrop's home to help with the dismantling of the tree.

It's snowing as I set out. It seems to be snowing constantly now, but when I look down on the walkway, I notice that we get minimal accumulation. Freezing cold, prickly precipitation, and little snow cover to show for it. Great.

Well yes, actually it sort of is that... Beauty in the cold, snow dusted landscape.







Snowdrop is well rested (you sleep well after pulling babies in sleds in the dead of winter) and in her best sweet mood. She shows off her nascent programing skills (yes, there are games out there that get you thinking about sequential commands)...





... then throws herself into the project of taking down the million ornaments from the young family's tree. She is good: she moves fast, separates the glass from the wood and has us finish the job in half the time we usually take for this sort of only mildly pleasant task.






(Is this wood or clay? Or fabric? It's not glass!)





At the farmhouse, the Christmas tree lingers. Don't really know why. Usually I'm eager to take it down, but this year, it lingers.