I bet you're tired of numbers. We are at -11F (-24C) this morning. Windchills of -32F (-35C). We wont be climbing up past 0F (-18C). What does any of it matter -- it's just plain cold, period.
But, we do study the numbers and let them set the agenda for the day. The winds howled and the cats refused to go out so that Ed had to pick them up and toss them into the night. Five minutes later they were back, begging to come in. Our three domesticated ferals. The others stayed in the shed.
In the morning Ed did animal chores. Not because I think he's a manly guy who ought to brave the elements in my stead, but because last night I had gently suggested he lock the cheepers so they can't come out into the bitter cold today, and he thought otherwise. I let it go. Today he had a change of heart and so I sent him out to do what should have been done last night: place a brick to keep the coop door from swinging open.
I didn't stay in bed though. I wanted to shovel the walkway so that we wouldn't trample down the new snow. The peeking sun painted a deceptively gentle picture for us: you could imagine that it's a regular old winter day. But no: stepping out was brutal. (Especially without cap or gloves.) Still, I paused to take in this raw beauty.
And then I quickly retreated and turned up the thermostat inside.
Breakfast: oatmeal, of course. Nothing else makes sense on a day like this. Ed, why the jacket? Just warming up after the walk to the barn.
I don't love being out and about at a time where we still have a blizzard warning in place, but Blue Moon is a reliable vehicle and I have light food shopping before me, to supplement my big order a few days back. I haven't yet gone into my go-to grocery store since the pandemic started and so I put in my order and plan on a curbside pick-up.
Why am I still not shopping inside? I hate to admit to this, but it's mostly out of convenience. We live far from my grocery store. Deliveries save time. But, too, for me it's symbolic. I quit shopping in person when the pandemic shut things down in March of 2020. It was a crazy set of weeks: I had to move my mother from her apartment to an assisted living facility. She was then completely incapacitated (and indeed, staying at a rehab center), and so Ed and I went through all her stuff and hauled over the essentials and disposed of the rest as best as we could, and we did it quickly because to us at least, it was obvious that the window of movement would close soon. The grocery store was a last hurrah: after moving her, Ed and I went on a big shopping trip, putting lots of frozen foods and canned stuff into the cart because, well, who knew where all this was heading. And so I haven't resumed my regular shopping in part because I want to keep firm the idea that we haven't resumed our prior lives. We move around differently now. With care. Somehow this translates into deliveries, or, when not available (like during a blizzard on the day before Christmas Eve) -- curbside pickup of groceries for me. For now.
I have other errands: Ed would love some fresh bread. I stop at Clasen's for their baguette and their cranberry walnut sourdough. And my Chicago daughter told me that the city is all out of ibuprofen for infants. Juniper isn't sick, but to no one wants to be short on this essential, just in case. So I search for a store that still has some. People have been hoarding it, for good reason. There are a lot of sick kiddos right now in the Midwest.
And then there's one more stop: at my older girl's home. She doesn't really need my help, but she sure would love it if I came over and played with the kids for a bit, especially the younger ones. They've all been housebound and the energy levels are mounting. Well fine! I can tumble around with them for a chunk of the morning.
(you're not taking down the holiday cards, are you? oh-oh, you are!)
The challenge is to amuse all three, all at the same time. After a few runs of building towers that the youngest will then knock down, I switch to a sure fire pleasing game of timed-release shots. Like these:
I drive home against gusts of wind, with blowing and drifting snow.
(to the right -- the new development; to the left -- the farmette...)
One more hill, one more turn...
... and I'm home.
Millions have lost their power to this bomb-cyclone. We are lucky: we have not. The farmhouse is warm. Our animals are safe. The lights on the tree give color to the room, the candle flickers, our world is calm. We are so grateful.
