Friday

When I was hospitalized with a strange virus back in September, I embarked on a journey of tests. Each doc who would come into my room would schedule another series, looking for clues as to what was destroying my health then. Everyone had a different idea.

The trouble with this approach is that if you test an older person long enough and far and wide, you are going to unravel mysteries you never expected to discover. At the very least, you will find yourself back on a retesting journey, just to be sure that the quaint new discovery isn't slowly (or not so slowly) gnawing away at your insides.

This morning I had to repeat some of the hospital tests for exactly this reason even though I am quite certain they will reveal absolutely nothing of interest to anybody (Ed would say that this will have been entirely predictable). I do wonder if Ed's approach -- a more balanced acceptance of what you need to test away and what you can ignore -- gives you a better outcome in the end. I mean, he's out enjoying lunch with friends, I'm sipping some toxic cocktail in a clinic room. Who had the better morning? 

It's a cold day, and, too, it's a frustratingly brown day. Meaning we have before us a winter landscape without snow. This is discouraging for the two of us who are just itching to go out on skis while the knees still permit us (well, really me) to go out on skis. I see no snow in the forecast. Plenty of freezing dry days. The ones that crack your skin and tickle your nasal passages, but leave you with that brown landscape.

But, I do love these seasonal early morning walks to the barn! Each month offers a different perspective. 

And of course, I also love our wintry breakfasts. Oatmeal is so perfect for December mornings that I can even let go of my appetite for croissants and cinnamon rolls. For a day or two!

In the quiet of an empty farmhouse, I read too many articles from various newspapers. This is not a source of pleasure or joy. There is such a thing as too much knowledgable speculation about the state of the world. I should have gone for a walk instead. I and the planet would have been better off for it. (If I walk, then my health improves and I have to use fewer resources to test for diseases as I get older, right?)

In the early afternoon I pick up a happy Snowdrop and bring her to the farmette.

She has been begging her parents (every time I drop her off in the evening and we pass the display of holiday lights at Olin park) to do the holiday drive through past twinkling Santas and reindeer and vignettes from the North Pole ("I dont believe that Santa brings us presents, but I do think that there is a Santa Claus somewhere out there!" Fair enough...). Her parents (rightly) have put her off for a bit, but finally agreed that it should be tonight. She is ecstatic with anticipation.

We read. Back to Judy Blume. I swear we will start in on new stuff next week. But in the meanwhile, she is happily reliving the adventures of a fourth grade nothing.

I drop her off, vaguely considering going through the light display myself on the way home. 

I haven't done it since my girls were too young to drive themselves and I powered through it for them and with them, music on loud, lights twinkling all around us. 

In the end I turn around and skip it. It's just not that exciting to do on your own. Perhaps this is one of those seasonal joys that you truly have to be young to fully appreciate. 

At the farmhouse, I light my spruce-balsam-juniper candle and put the pot of soup on the stove. Lovely scents and tastes and twinkly things, all inside our small little home.