the shortest day

This, as you know, is the shortest day of the year. At the farmette, the sun rose at 7:26 a.m. and set at 4:26 p.m. For me, this is very acceptable: I am used to Poland's winter days. The sun there rose today at 7:43 a.m. -- which is still within the range of "normal" in my view, but it set at 3:25.

I am up significantly before daylight filtered into our bedroom.
Why so early? -- Ed asks in his sleepiest voice.
So much to do! That's the obvious answer, but it really masks the truth. I have plenty of time to do all that's left before the holiday celebrations begin (for us they begin tomorrow, as the young family arrives then to spend the pre-Christmas days with us here in Wisconsin). But I want to go slowly. The older I get, the less acting like a speed demon appeals to me. I like to pause. Revel. Digress. Drink my milky coffee, eat a piece of gingerbread and smile at the wonderfulness of it all. For this, I need time.

Ed looks a heck of a lot better after I gave him both a haircut and beard trim yesterday, but you can't really tell because he is being camera contrary this morning. He does that sometime to test my patience.




And then I grocery shop.

I spend two hours in the grocery store. Two hours!  In part, it's because foods were flying off the shelves and four times I had to ask for help in searching out some basics like lemons, unsalted butter, pancetta and whipping cream. Clerks hustled to tear up containers and bring out fresh supplies, but they just could not keep up with the demand. I gave up on the low fat sour cream. We'll just have to grow fat this holiday with the regular old stuff (it's for a sauce).

I have been shopping for the holidays for many decades now (and I have always loved this crowded, busy time at the store -- everyone tries extra hard to be kind and considerate, as if to demonstrate that even under stress, there is room for a smile). But for the crowds to be this intense and the carts this full a whole four days before Christmas? Rare. It's as if we're all so disturbed by the state of the world, the planet, our environment (or at least I hope we're disturbed! We should be!), that we want to eat and drink and work extra hard at being merry, because these days, being merry can be tough.


Our fridge is full. I have a game plan for the cooking of the family meals (between Sunday and Tuesday -- three dinners and one brunch). I'm set!

Here's that coffee...





Time to pick up Snowdrop and bring her to the farmhouse.






(Did a pink tornado just whizz by me?)






Two recent loves: climbing up on the kitchen counter and juicy ripe pears.







In the evening, I heat up leftovers for supper: lentil soup for this shortest day. And now onward -- toward spring and more immediately -- toward Christmas.