As much as I love fires in the fireplace, I think I’m ready for winter to be over. I don’t want to be in my office, with its cold blue walls, down in the cold basement.
Instead of standing on my anti-fatigue mat at my perfect height desk, or sitting in my perfectly adjusted desk chair, with all of my arm and shoulder and hip bends at exactly the right angles, I’ve been cross-legged on the couch, on the love seat, in the armchair by the window, where the room is warm and welcoming. I’ve been at the kitchen table. I took my laptop stand, portable keyboard, and portable trackpad into our son’s room, plugged in a lamp, and sat at his desk all last week, in the exact version of the chair I have down in my office, except that his desk is a different height and isn’t adjustable. But his room is cozy, and I’d rather be there than in my office.
At the end of last week, I had to lie down at lunch because I had a visual migraine. I’ve had these on occasion in the past, usually pain-free, mostly when I was going through menopause, but I hadn’t gotten one in a while. And this one came with pain. As did the one I got the next day, and the next, and the next. My husband rubbed my head for me one night to help relieve the pain, and as he worked his way up from my shoulders to my neck to my temples, I realized how much tension I had deep beneath my left shoulder blade (from reading or typing on the couch) and up the sides and back of my neck (from scrunching my shoulders at my son’s desk).
Reluctantly, I went back down to my office yesterday. I lit a candle and turned on the space heater, but that’s not enough to transform it to a snug space. The heat is stuffy and localized, and I’m over my office’s current vibe: it’s too electric and colorful. I want to tone it down. I’m going to have to repaint and redecorate to make it a place I want to be. Warmth and fresh air would be nice, too.
Over the holidays, when I worked most days and my team encouraged me to take time off, I promised them and myself that I’d take a day off in January instead. Today is that day.
Today is also a day that an epic winter storm is bearing down on us, though you’d never know from the sunny sky. For my day off, I’d planned to swim at 7am instead of 5:30, and then to toodle around our tiny downtown. Get some coffee. Walk to the book store. Then go home and relax on the new love seat with a book, or maybe, if I’m lucky, thanks to our son who gave me a subscription for Christmas, with the latest issue of The New Yorker if it lands in our mailbox today. I hope I have it in hand when the weather arrives.
And I did all of those morning things. I just inserted a few other things as well. Like find all of our power banks and charge them. Dust off the camp stove, test if it still works, buy fuel. Stock up on cat food, bring in firewood, wash and dry clothes, grind coffee (I still need to do this one). Marvel at the line out the door at the hardware store for snow shovels, salt, and generators. Consider what’s sold out at the grocery store: water, tortilla chips, yogurt. Hope we have enough food and firewood if we lose power, and our whole region loses power, and we have to go several days with high temperatures in the teens and no heat or range or oven or hot water.
It’s strange knowing this storm is coming and then also just going about my regular day. It’s so pretty out! I added a couple of walking stops on my little morning jaunt from the coffee shop to the book store. Our CEO gave us homework this week to go to a museum. At first I thought, We don’t have a museum in town. How will I do this?
Then I remembered the performing arts center sometimes has exhibits, and there’s a historic house in town that’s been converted into a local history museum that sometimes has art.
After I drank my coffee with the paper — an actual newspaper! I pick them up sometimes now after reading Beth Macy’s Paper Girl — I bundled up and began my walk to the other side of town where the book store is. I stopped in the performing arts center, but it was between exhibits, so I just appreciated the architecture for a few minutes, and the airy space full of light.
Next I stopped at the Alexander Black House. I’ve passed this building at least a thousand times in the however many years we’ve lived here.
14. That’s how many years.
Anyway, this house is unusual for this town — the architecture is unlike anything else here — and at least half of those thousand times that I’ve passed it, I’ve thought, I wonder what it’s like in there? Well today I found out because I went in.
Alexander Black House
Inside, a local high school exhibited artwork — photographs, block prints, paintings — and I loved putting the pieces together of “They must have had an assignment about eyes” and seeing the different interpretations from these creative minds.
My favorite part of the museum was a room restored to look like it would have in the early 1900s when it was lived in. Look at the wallpaper! I just love it. Someone should bring wallpaper back.
Wallpaper, dado rail, and wainscoting
Now I’m back home with a blanket on my lap, a hot cup of orange tea, and the sun shining through the window. Our forecast has gone from a prediction of 2 feet of snow to now just 4-9 inches, but of snow, sleet, and ice. The latter will be heavy and treacherous. We don’t need to drive, thankfully, but the weight of ice is bad news for downed power lines.
I want to bring in just a little more firewood, then cover the woodpile with a tarp. I’m hoping all these preparations won’t been necessary. It’s really not fun to lose electricity in subarctic temperatures. My favorite part of every day in winter is climbing into our warm bed after turning on our heated mattress pad. It’s so luxurious to preheat the sheets! We can’t do that without power. We can pull camp mattresses and sleeping bags next to the fireplace though.
Daily writing prompt
Name an attraction or town close to home that you still haven’t got around to visiting.
My husband and I decided to pare back in 2026. Belongings can begin to feel burdensome after a while. They need to be maintained. They need to be dusted. They need to be moved out of the way when so many have accumulated that they pile up. The more you have, the more space you need to store them all in.
Last weekend, after both kids drove away to go back to college, we systematically went through the house to decide: pitch, keep, or store for a later decision? We started with our clothes. I made hard decisions to throw out clothes that were worn so hard they were threadbare. I made easy decisions to throw out clothes I’ve worn once or twice in the past year. We filled two or three garbage bags, some for donation, some for the dump.
Then we moved to linens. We had blankets and sheets, pillows and towels stored in multiple closets around the house. We dumped them all on the bedroom floor and sorted. We filled half a dozen more garbage bags.
We pulled all of our kitchen stuff out, which was also scattered around the house because our kitchen is small and we store infrequently used equipment downstairs. We went through the junk drawers and our hobby supplies. We filled bins for donation.
I wondered, on many occasions, why do we have this set up this way? The stick blender’s motor housing was in a drawer, while the cup and the blender arm were in a cupboard. The firewood is across the room from the fireplace instead of next to it.
We’ve cleared space, and our house feels like it’s breathing clean air. Like the corners have been scrubbed and sparkle. When I reach in the cupboard for a coffee cup, I can pull one out without without worrying about toppling a stack.
We moved art around, including a painting Santa brought me this year that Brian and the kids consulted him on. We moved a painting into the living room that had looked flat on its previous wall but has come to life in the changing light of its new place. We moved furniture around so that the dining room no longer encroaches on the living room.
I thought this paring back would take months, and I was not looking forward to it. But last weekend, we agreed that if we could get through the decluttering, then this weekend we could go shopping to refresh our living spaces. I am eager to replace the raggedy old towels we threw out. I have been dreaming of new furniture for our living room for a long time, of comfy places for more than one person to be able to lie down and read at the same time. When we agreed we could shop this weekend if we got through the decluttering last weekend, I was very motivated.
Now the work week is almost done. We’re going to a cello recital tonight, and then tomorrow, we shop! I cannot wait to put a love seat by the fireplace, move the bookshelves to open up the corners, and bring the firewood to its rightful place by the hearth.
I’ve been traveling a lot the past few weeks — Albuquerque for my cousin’s wedding, Ireland for a leadership meetup for work, New York City for fun with my husband, and Spain for our operations team meetup. The travel was exciting, but I’m glad to finally be home. With the sniffles, but home.
I’ve felt frazzled over the past few weeks with all of the travel, Thanksgiving, both kids’ birthdays, lots of new stuff at work, and Christmas on the way. My brain has been working overtime and I haven’t had the creative energy to write or blog. I feel that frazzle easing a bit now as I move some things to the completed column.
White lights twinkle on our Christmas tree and front porch rail. Snow glitters on the ground. We’ve brought the holiday decorations out of storage, and steam rises from a reindeer coffee mug by my side. Our daughter is asleep in her bed here at home. She drove up yesterday from Florida, her third semester of college complete, and opened birthday presents at 9:30 last night after starting the day with an exam then driving 10 hours. Her birthday was Wednesday, and it was the first time in her life we haven’t been with her for it. She had a fun day with friends in St. Augustine, so it’s not a sad thing. Just weird. For us.
One cat lays on my lapboard, snuggled against my belly with her chin resting on my forearm as I type; the other lays on the seat cushion behind me. We had a fire last night, and this morning I’m warm in my soft sweatshirt, sweatpants, and thick wool socks. I am cozy. I can feel my body relaxing into the beauty of winter and Christmas. With one of our babies here at home and the other on his way in a few days, my heart feels peace.
It is raining and raining. Water gushes in the gutters. Drops dink against the metal chimney liner. A steady downpour shushes me into slippers and under a blanket instead of into workout clothes.
I know weather is not supposed to be interesting to talk about. It is the cliché small talk topic. Weather is big, though. It is ever present. It is not a nothing. Unless I stay indoors, weather can determine the fate of my mood, my comfort, my energy level, what I want to listen to, what I wear, what I do.
Even indoors, weather seeps in. Snow, then ice, earlier in the week knocked our power out for almost 24 hours. We lit candles and a fire that evening and read by battery powered lights. Temperatures dipped below freezing outside. Our bedroom is far from the fire, and the floor by the fireplace was not padded enough for my old body to sleep on. We wore long underwear and slept under an extra down comforter on our bed.
We worried overnight that the kitties would turn to popsicles. I woke at 5:30 am to a still dark, still cold house, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I had no light for my regular writing practice, and my mind raced about stuff at work. I turned my laptop on, tethered to my phone, and started working. We lit another fire. I drove to get coffee, along with every other person in town. I sat in the drive-through line for 20 minutes.
That was a long, draining day. More draining than I realized in the moment. Every thing I did required new microdecisions or included unanticipated obstacles. I fed logs to the fire and worked from battery packs until every device and every battery pack petered out. I had no juice left. Not in me, not in my laptop, my phone, or 5 different portable power sources.
I walked 20 minutes under a blue sky to Panera, the closest place I would potentially be able to get wifi and a power outlet. The warm sun created torrents of meltwater that poured from gutter spouts and rushed along the edges of streets. The sun felt wonderful on my face.
When I arrived, Panera was slammed. I was clearly not the first person in town to have this idea. Open laptops topped nearly every table, all the outlets were taken, the pastry case was empty, and the internet was down. I took this as a sign that it was time to end my workday. I’d already put in a long day anyway. Luckily, I had brought my book. I bought coffee and read at a table by the window where the warm sun poured in on me. The table was unwanted by anyone else; there was not a power outlet anywhere in sight.
After snow, sleet, freezing rain, ice, and sun over the past few days, today’s rain feels like permission to rest. It says, stay inside. Be soothed. Take it easy. Enjoy the click and shush of the heater coming on. Snuggle under that fuzzy blanket. Cuddle with a kitty. Read your book.
It’s dark through the window. The sun is still an hour from rising. As I sip my coffee and look out, in the barely there glow of pre-dawn light I see white powder piling on the stair rail. We’re expecting maybe 7 inches of snow before it turns to sleet then freezing rain tonight.
I’m excited for it. I’ve got my comfies on: sweatshirt, sweatpants, wool socks. Our cat Tubbles is purring against my chest as I type. On the kitchen counter, I’ve got chickpea flour soaking for a flatbread I’ll bake tonight in a cast iron skillet. The bread will accompany a toasted grain soup with mushrooms and kale that I’ve been wanting to try for a while.
I brought in extra wood and laid a fire in the fireplace last night so that all we have to do tonight is light it. We’re cozy and warm. We’ve got cats and blankets and the makings for warm, comforting food. We’re ready for snowfall.
Butterfly Mind 