Yesterday, the first day of winter, was beautiful, clear, cold, and blue. And the shortest day of the year.
Lucy is still miserable with a fever and coughing. DH is still buried in stress at work. I am busy trying to find our Christmas things in all the boxes, create some festive cheer, and lift everyone’s mood.
Today I will take Stash and my father’s saw, cut down a Christmas tree in the back acres, and drag it home through the snow. I will dig out our old amplifier and speakers — my grandmother bought the set for me when I was fifteen — wire them temporarily, and play carols. (Someday I want to upgrade beyond the 1970s, but not today.) I will set up the Nativity and hang the strap of sleigh bells on the door.
Last night before bedtime as I walked up the hill with the dogs, the temperature was 7° F and dropping. Orion with his shining belt was swaggering over the top of the house.
We have 100 days of cold still ahead but as I looked at the warm yellow light shining in the windows of our new home, I thought: we’re over the hump. Tomorrow the day will be four minutes longer.