No Matter How I Try, the Years They Just Flow by Like a Broken Down Dam

I woke up just as it started snowing out my bedroom window. I could see the light that snow makes brightening up my room and I knew. I love that brightness. Of course, the tiny bit of arthritis in my right hand told me it would snow and it did. Let's add that to the worst superpowers ever.

I love the sound of the snow. The way it rustles like tissue paper in a bag when these big, soft, irregular flakes fall. Perfect silence except that barely audible crunch. The way it muffles every other sound. I went out the front for a few minutes just to listen. I heard my hawk in the trees and the sound of the snow. It's not as cold as I thought it would be. About ten degrees warmer than yesterday morning.

I'm thankful for a job that allows me to work from home. I'm watching the snow fall hard and heavy out the patio door. My inner child wants to run out in the street and make my footprints the first set in the perfect, even, surface. I guess I should save that for the actual children.


When we were kids, Nanny would always make homemade hot chocolate when it snowed. I can see her in my mind, standing over the stove, the light from the range hood casting a golden glow over her and the pot as she stirred. I think I'll do that today. I'm all teary just thinking about it. I miss that woman so much it feels like the first hill on a rollercoaster racing into my stomach.

Maybe I'll start some bread too. I'm not sure how to keep it warm enough for the magic to happen. But I have to keep the starter going either way. I think I might try cinnamon rolls with the dough. I can't guarantee results, but I've been thinking about it for a while and it may turn out great. And they'd be a nice treat for Sunday.

I've made half a dozen or so small paintings. Folks love them because they take up less space and because they cost me less in time and materials, I can sell them for less and not kick myself. I've had so many people tell me lately that my paintings are getting really good. It feels nice not only to feel as if the process is becoming easier, but that the results are getting better and people are noticing. I guess I'm finally starting to feel proud of my paintings.

Painting landscapes makes you see landscape differently. I stood at the window for several minutes earlier looking at the way snow gathers on tree branches and then on fenceposts and the way it settles in the grass before it's deep enough to cover all the blades and the sloping lines on surfaces not quite vertical. It's truly beautiful and it makes me happy to appreciate something I don't deeply love in a new way.

I will likely paint some more today. I wish I were better at snowscapes. I painted one that's good, taught by Steve. It has this pinkish lavender glow. Nothing in nature is ever really white. Steve and Bram always have this way of bringing out the best painter in me. I am so thankful for the two of them and for the community of painters I've come to love along the way. I could probably do one of those sepia-colored ones that Steve is so fond of. I love the way the colors in those reflect on the water and birch trees look lovely in them. I do love painting birch trees.

The house has started smelling like sourdough starter. It's a sweet one and my nose picks it up. If I close my eyes, I can hear Nanny's terrycloth house shoes on the orange linoleum kitchen floor. I can see the pattern on the plastic bottoms. She's wearing an old pair of khaki slacks and a light-colored button down shirt with a cream cotton sweater no longer nice enough to wear outside the house.

The snow had turned to frozen rain for a few minutes, less of a rustle and more a flat plinking. Now it looks and sounds like a mix. I may or may not be leaving the house today and if this continues, tomorrow. That last part makes me less than thrilled because as much as I love my quiet little house, there's someone I sure would like to see. Speaking of, seems like I've been asked to go snow blind myself to see what my eyes look like in that brightness. Everyone's eyes are beautiful in the snow. You want to study eyes, put someone in the snow. You'll see every shade of green and gold and caramel and all the darkest coffee bean speckles that way.

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