January, I need to let you know a few facts. Sure, you’re a long and hearty month, and one that demands we play by your rules, but seriously, we all must do what we must to survive you. I get it, if you had it your way, we’d all be hibernating like bears, hunkered down, stoking a smoky fire in a clay hut. But listen January, you may be bitter and cold and rigid and frigid, but we just can’t live like that. Not really. Not this year. Sure snowbirds may fly to Miami to escape the real you, but for those of us who hang tough to tell the tale come May, we have a few tried and true strategies. For starters, we keep color inside while your landscape lays bare on the other side of our frame. That’s right. A pop of color to remind us that even January, as big and rough as you want us to believe, is temporary.
Tag Archives: winter
she’s gone where?
Sorry to desert you, my dear hard-working friends, but, I’m on VACATION, searching out some much needed sunshine.
Expect a full and glorious report on my return.
Until then,
xxoo
One Day in the Life of, me, this winter, or, How I Will Survive
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn secretly wrote One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich during the Cold War, and now, decades later, during this unforgiving winter, I am warmed by the sense of dignity and hope he instills in his gulag–bound characters. Not to diminish the suffering of the 5,000,000 prisoners who endured cruelty and hardships under Stalin’s rule, but I too am feeling the burdens of this winter season. Crushing cold, violent storms, grey upon white, and a stretch of days ahead that screech more of the same. Survive? Well yes, I will, but I will certainly steal from the wisdom of Solzhenitsyn to make it through. After all, with day after day of sub-zero weather this winter, we can all feel Siberia in our very bones, right? And we need his words more than ever…
Thankfully my survival depends on my own constructs, and is not predicated on outsmarting corrupt guards in a work camp. I find small promises where I can, like sipping my Sunday morning tea in bed. Hot and black with frothed milk. And yes, snuggled under a down comforter. The raw day can wait…
Nine Cent Girl 