As I said before, I've banished all talk of taking stock and "last year at this time." Instead, I'd like to report about a simple holiday trip into winter last week. Four days with family, short and sweet. Planes and FWD vehicles. So-early wake ups—the sun still behind the peaks—just so I could catch a ride into the mountain with my dad. Hours of quiet out there in the cold, riding through the powder all by myself. The trees—the trees! How they looked all caked with new snow, like cakes, you know?
By Christmas night, I was ready for home, though. There is a statute of limitations on celebrating—on sitting around the kitchen table with everyone you are related to eating and drinking and talking, on going for walks just for something to do, on cookies. Yes—even cookies.
Lovely to visit, lovely to come home. Lovely to spoon with dog in bed and carry on with real life in a regular, non-holiday fashion. January 2nd, wherefore art thou?