Dear Friends,
Little January
Tapped on my door today.
And said, "Put on your winter wraps,
And come outdoors to play."
Little January
Is always full of fun;
Today we coasted down the hill
Until the set of sun.
Little January
Will stay a month with me
And we have such jolly times---
Just come along and see.
Winifred C. Marshall
Tapped on my door today.
And said, "Put on your winter wraps,
And come outdoors to play."
Little January
Is always full of fun;
Today we coasted down the hill
Until the set of sun.
Little January
Will stay a month with me
And we have such jolly times---
Just come along and see.
Winifred C. Marshall
Well, Winifred looks at January in a much nicer way than most. It can be jolly at times. There's so much to do if you just dig deep and put on your winter wraps and go outside. You can snowshoe, ski, and sled. Really you can fly down the snowy hill on anything you can dream up.
I remember the first time going to the sledding hill after moving from Florida, where Little January has a whole other personality. It was just as wonderful as I thought it would be, maybe better because I loved the creativity people had when choosing a snowy vehicle. Of course there were different types of sleds you buy at the store, but there was also an amazing display of ingenuity.
Kids of all ages, yes including old farts, soared down the hill on shower curtains, floats that are made for the river, or gigantic pink flamingos which usually chill in a pool somewhere tropical. There was a foursome gliding down on an old waterbed mattress. Do they even make waterbeds anymore?
I saw a teenage boy surf the hill on an ironing board. My goodness that's the greatest way of all in which an ironing board should be used. Then I saw a furry man, who looked like he was sherpa. He came down from the mountain tops for a Little January fling. He removed tires from a bike and replaced them with skis. It was brilliant, and I imagine only a Himalayan Sherpa with an innate balance required from such a vehicle could ride. A brave sherpa indeed.
I remember the first time going to the sledding hill after moving from Florida, where Little January has a whole other personality. It was just as wonderful as I thought it would be, maybe better because I loved the creativity people had when choosing a snowy vehicle. Of course there were different types of sleds you buy at the store, but there was also an amazing display of ingenuity.
Kids of all ages, yes including old farts, soared down the hill on shower curtains, floats that are made for the river, or gigantic pink flamingos which usually chill in a pool somewhere tropical. There was a foursome gliding down on an old waterbed mattress. Do they even make waterbeds anymore?
I saw a teenage boy surf the hill on an ironing board. My goodness that's the greatest way of all in which an ironing board should be used. Then I saw a furry man, who looked like he was sherpa. He came down from the mountain tops for a Little January fling. He removed tires from a bike and replaced them with skis. It was brilliant, and I imagine only a Himalayan Sherpa with an innate balance required from such a vehicle could ride. A brave sherpa indeed.
All of those Little January playmates had one thing in common. They answered the knock. We can't always do that. Sometimes, we have to invite her in. Sometimes insist she get her blizzardy ass inside.
Last week we had a brutal arctic blast. Once a year, the arctic toddler having a wintry tantrum makes an appearance. This one seemed to stay a bit longer. My old boss used to say visitors are like fish, after three days they start to stink. Well, it stayed longer than three days. However because everything is frozen solid you can't smell it. But you know it stinks.
This was an arctic blast which brought multiple warnings to keep all skin covered to avoid, I don't know, skin hurt? Also, dress as much as possible to avoid hypothermia. The wind chill was horrific. And well, it was a time to light a candle and hunker in.
Last week we had a brutal arctic blast. Once a year, the arctic toddler having a wintry tantrum makes an appearance. This one seemed to stay a bit longer. My old boss used to say visitors are like fish, after three days they start to stink. Well, it stayed longer than three days. However because everything is frozen solid you can't smell it. But you know it stinks.
This was an arctic blast which brought multiple warnings to keep all skin covered to avoid, I don't know, skin hurt? Also, dress as much as possible to avoid hypothermia. The wind chill was horrific. And well, it was a time to light a candle and hunker in.
Candle light, like quiet snow has a calming effect. I don't know if it's scientifically true, but it calms my nervous system. It's a beautiful exhale. For me, it immediately makes me feel like life is simple. No, not because I'm old and was born before electricity was invented. Dang, that was harsh. It's because it is simple. I'm not sure how to describe simple in my terms, it's more of a feeling.
To me simple is a kind of wandering, not in the literal sense, but the imaginative. It's not shirking your duties or responsibilities, it's, well, it's just that it doesn't make them more that they truly are.
I'm soothed by the thought of being in a cabin in the wintry woods along with Little January, writing by candle light, like Jo from Little Women. I relate to her because she was known as the tomboy who had a passion for writing.
I suppose that's because it's the best of both worlds. You go out and do what needs to be done, play, wander, explore, then come inside take off your bundles of clothes, light a candle and write down your thoughts to later remember. Or to sort out your feelings, or document the time.
While it's for sure I'm a tomboy, I too, have a passion for writing, only it's been revealed to me in the autumn stage (I'm being generous with myself) of life that I love to write just for me.
I also love to write letters. What has been reveled and boy do I wish it were brought to my attention sooner, is I have no desire to write a novel, a screenplay or any other formal piece of writing. Well, sometimes I get a hankerin' to do that, but what stops me is the formality of it all. It's not simple.
It's not that I don't want to hunker down and work hard. I just want to write for the joy of it. If I feel a story needs to be told, I'll tell it. The need to write is to discover myself, to share with the world my ideas, my views and hope it connects. I want to be heard.
The one thing I know to be true is I desire, no crave connection. But not just any connection, simple like candlelight. That seems to be the word I was born to reflect. For better or worse, I embody simple.
Perhaps one day I will share the story of how the word simple was used as a weapon, but today is not that day.
Today, simple is healing. It's everything beautiful, everything joyous, everything that's wonderful, everything loving....it's everything.
To me simple is a kind of wandering, not in the literal sense, but the imaginative. It's not shirking your duties or responsibilities, it's, well, it's just that it doesn't make them more that they truly are.
I'm soothed by the thought of being in a cabin in the wintry woods along with Little January, writing by candle light, like Jo from Little Women. I relate to her because she was known as the tomboy who had a passion for writing.
I suppose that's because it's the best of both worlds. You go out and do what needs to be done, play, wander, explore, then come inside take off your bundles of clothes, light a candle and write down your thoughts to later remember. Or to sort out your feelings, or document the time.
While it's for sure I'm a tomboy, I too, have a passion for writing, only it's been revealed to me in the autumn stage (I'm being generous with myself) of life that I love to write just for me.
I also love to write letters. What has been reveled and boy do I wish it were brought to my attention sooner, is I have no desire to write a novel, a screenplay or any other formal piece of writing. Well, sometimes I get a hankerin' to do that, but what stops me is the formality of it all. It's not simple.
It's not that I don't want to hunker down and work hard. I just want to write for the joy of it. If I feel a story needs to be told, I'll tell it. The need to write is to discover myself, to share with the world my ideas, my views and hope it connects. I want to be heard.
The one thing I know to be true is I desire, no crave connection. But not just any connection, simple like candlelight. That seems to be the word I was born to reflect. For better or worse, I embody simple.
Perhaps one day I will share the story of how the word simple was used as a weapon, but today is not that day.
Today, simple is healing. It's everything beautiful, everything joyous, everything that's wonderful, everything loving....it's everything.
Today, I will answer Little January's knock. I'll put on my jacket, scarf, a hand-made crocheted with love from my niece burgundy headband to cover my ears. I'll top it off with a knit hat, slip on my gloves, and put on my arctic mucks then go outside and shovel snow.
Perhaps, I will throw snowballs for the dogs, or build a snow dragon. Yes, a snow dragon. What isn't there to love about dragons? Man, I think I could write a thousand pages about dragons.
But I probably won't build any snow formations because it's not the type of snow for creating creatures. The Warren Miller gang calls it champagne snow. And if you're not carvin', you're starvin'.
Most certainly I will throw out birdseed for the birds so they can have a proper meal. Yesterday, there were billons perched on my crabapple tree. They were feasting on the over-riped, dare I say rotted fruit.
The tree became the only pub in town open, and there were no bouncer to card the minors. It was a rager. I don't mean to insult them. The birds were just trying to have a hot toddy and perhaps a spin on the dance floor with their favorite mate.
I just don't want them drinking and flying.
The quail on the other hand cruise through the yard like they are the stars of the royal parade in front of Windsor castle. They are fancy enough to wear crowns, and they do wear it well, but simple enough to eat whatever they find. They know who they are. Guess what? After a long, long, long time, I"m finally figuring out who I am. It's magnificent.
I know for sure today I'll be mucking stalls, that's year round. I'll also scratch Echo's ears, or whatever area the divine queen will allow me. Frankie, I'll rub his neck. He likes that. Echo will get a carrot, Frankie's not quite sure what that is yet. In due time my precious boy.
Perhaps, I will throw snowballs for the dogs, or build a snow dragon. Yes, a snow dragon. What isn't there to love about dragons? Man, I think I could write a thousand pages about dragons.
But I probably won't build any snow formations because it's not the type of snow for creating creatures. The Warren Miller gang calls it champagne snow. And if you're not carvin', you're starvin'.
Most certainly I will throw out birdseed for the birds so they can have a proper meal. Yesterday, there were billons perched on my crabapple tree. They were feasting on the over-riped, dare I say rotted fruit.
The tree became the only pub in town open, and there were no bouncer to card the minors. It was a rager. I don't mean to insult them. The birds were just trying to have a hot toddy and perhaps a spin on the dance floor with their favorite mate.
I just don't want them drinking and flying.
The quail on the other hand cruise through the yard like they are the stars of the royal parade in front of Windsor castle. They are fancy enough to wear crowns, and they do wear it well, but simple enough to eat whatever they find. They know who they are. Guess what? After a long, long, long time, I"m finally figuring out who I am. It's magnificent.
I know for sure today I'll be mucking stalls, that's year round. I'll also scratch Echo's ears, or whatever area the divine queen will allow me. Frankie, I'll rub his neck. He likes that. Echo will get a carrot, Frankie's not quite sure what that is yet. In due time my precious boy.
So Little January, I won't wish you away. I will hope you stay for the month. And like the poem says we will have such jolly times. We will also take a breath Little January, or the heart of winter as some call you. You are also the purveyor of deep thoughts, of solidifying seeds planted in the fall. Yes, in the fall, spring isn't the only season to get the glory of sowing seeds.
Little January, you offer us a much needed break from the whirlwind of the holidays, from chaotic life, from have to's and musts. And I thank you for that.
Love,
Kelly
Little January, you offer us a much needed break from the whirlwind of the holidays, from chaotic life, from have to's and musts. And I thank you for that.
Love,
Kelly
RSS Feed