Bruce is home! I nearly bolted through the door to see him. And then spent the night bouncing back and forth between my two lives. When my roomie went outside without me I was actually jealous. I couldn't decide where to be, outside with her while she and a neighborhood friend threw the last snow drifts up in the air with rakes. Or inside with Bruce while he caught up on my life by reading this blog.
The purpose of this blog was to let Bruce know what I was doing, from time to time, while he wo…
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Posted by Betty on April 8, 2009 at 9:00pm —
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Does 10+ inches of heavy snow constitute March going out like a white lamb, or is the storm a blast of a lion leaving? The landscape is decidedly lamb-like, covered in fluffy white snow rounding out all the sharp edges. Seeing it, I frolicked. The snowfall felt like an old friend and I was comfortable in the sight of it. Had the spring's changes added some invisible stress? I'd have guessed that seeing the landscape revealed would have been liberating. And now covered in this familiar fluff, it…
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Posted by Betty on March 29, 2009 at 5:30pm —
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We expanded our regular route, crossing over a new hill at the bottom of the meadow and along the side of the horse paddock. We walked across the top of tall grass now flattened by a winter of heavy snow, imagining what spring would bring and how difficult it might be to walk the same way in late summer.
We found the back of a lovely farm. Several out buildings supported a large barn grayed with wisdom, like baby ducks surrounding the mama. None had a viable roof. What was left of the roof on a…
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Posted by Betty on March 28, 2009 at 5:30pm —
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I sat on the deck for the first time today. Snow is still piled in the corners at least 8 inches and sometimes 15 or 16 inches. there's a clear circle in the center where the sun concentrates it's energy. I just sat. Listening to the wind, the birds, smelling whatever. My roomie joined me for a bit. And we dreamed about warm evenings to come.
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Posted by Betty on March 24, 2009 at 10:00pm —
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We'd been over the hill, down the road and around the meadow. Back around to the house and through the yard. Where'd we find our quarry? In the back yard of course. Four inches of green daffodil leaves were peaking out a foot from the melting edge of a snowbank. Hope springing ... just like it's supposed to.
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Posted by Betty on March 23, 2009 at 10:00pm —
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My roommate and I set out walking through the woods, carpeted in sunset as we set out. (I think she wanted to discover some of my weekend wanderings.) Our house is in a dell. The snow is still knee deep in the hollows. Along my paths, its not deep at all. A step or two off the path and you're digging snow out of the crevice between the top of your boots and your socks. As we traveled up, the snow thinned to very wet leaves matted over brown spongy dirt. Thinking about it now, the remaining snow…
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Posted by Betty on March 18, 2009 at 11:30pm —
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I took off over the hill today. I explored the hills and orchards, finding treasure after treasure. After several hours absent, my roommates were a little put off. I'd been gone longer than expected and ventured to some dangerous areas. (their scolding is not without merit, one of the neighbors likes plinking and my trails run along the back of his shooting range.)
Frankly, there are times when adventure's call is louder than my better judgement. One quick look back and I disappeared over the h…
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Posted by Betty on March 15, 2009 at 8:30pm —
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I set about re-running my pathways only to find ice everywhere. The precariously dressed landscape required that I walk too delicately. And I slipped several times. I attempted to crunch through the terrain. And after awhile it was too much work.
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Posted by Betty on March 12, 2009 at 6:30pm —
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Sunshine followed yesterday's blizzard. There are 15-18 inches on the ground, depending on who's telling the story. Perched overlooking a scenic part of the garden, we have a pair of iron chairs and table, like something you'd see crowding a Parisian sidewalk. The 15 inches of snow atop that table looked like a perfectly round layer cake. Only Dr. Suess size. And when I say layer cake, it looked like it had dozens of layers of crystal filling.
Being a sunny day, the glass on the tabletop warmed…
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Posted by Betty on March 9, 2009 at 6:00pm —
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After a two-day warm spell that discouraged my roommates from skiing on the last day of Homestead's season, it started snowing. A few flakes fell. Seconds later, the snow was so thick, the drive was covered. A few hours later, we had to push 8 inches off the car to go to dinner. By the time we got back, all my pathways were invisible. And it was still coming down. Party in the snow confetti! I tried to run along the paths I'd been traveling for weeks, intending to bound gazelle-like covered in a…
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Posted by Betty on March 8, 2009 at 10:30pm —
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St. David's day. Not a daffodil in sight. Temps dropped to frigid levels, dragging my mood down with them. Searching for some sort of warmth, I probably annoyed people, following them around. So I looked for signs of spring outside. Crisp air only gave me a chill today. But I found squirrels romping along the crust of the snow and racing around and up tree trunks like a peppermint swirl. And the flock of turkeys crashed into the yet-to-be canopy above. While the magnolia buds peak out only inche…
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Posted by Betty on March 3, 2009 at 12:33am —
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For an hour today, midday, it snowed feathers, like a sitcom pillow fight. Big, fluffy, oblong. The snowflakes were so big they made noise when they landed. If you put out your tongue, they would light on it like a communion wafer. I like eating snow. Now I'm careful, I brush off the top layer and grab what's underneath. And I can't tell you why I like it so much, whether it's texture or the cold. And so there I was, eating snow and having communion. At least I was communing with nature. And the…
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Posted by Betty on February 25, 2009 at 2:00pm —
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The icy wind was a bonus for me today. It kept my roomies from their plans and so we had some time together. We ran up hills. We cleared off the deck. And we slid down hills and driveways. And we looked for the unicorn's missing horn. We kept out of the wind, shoveling pathways, chasing squirrels and trying to build a snowman out of the wrong kind of snow. And we built a a lovely troll out of snow, ice, leaves and two stones for her steely gaze. It turned out to be the right kind of snow for a j…
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Posted by Betty on February 22, 2009 at 4:00pm —
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It snowed the tiniest snowflakes, all day. Inches and inches piled up. Flakes were so small it was almost mist, except that it fell with some force. Determined to come down, energetic. Proving yet again that a large group with determination can have a big impact, even causing dinner parties to be canceled.
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Posted by Betty on February 21, 2009 at 10:00pm —
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I had an entire weekend on the water. An impromptu Valentine's Day treat with friends who have a house on the water. With the thaw the week before, the hills and the shoreline were mine to explore. [no wading through 2 feet of icy snow.] I started close to the cottage and ventured a little farther each time out. Mornings went by too quickly. Days exploring dissolved into long shadows. And while the days are longer, I often found myself pushing the limits of twilight past dusk into nighttime.
St…
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Posted by Betty on February 18, 2009 at 10:14pm —
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Somehow dawn filled the air with a rosy mist. As the light filtered down to the floor of the wood, it washed the snow in gold. Disney couldn't have painted a more mystical scene.
The sun is shining, the weather is warm, everyone's spirit is bright. These record breaking temps had one of my roomies in shorts.
How could I be glum with all this meteorlogical merriment? I'm stumped. Was it because everyone had things to do tonight, leaving me on my own? Or has this taste of spring reminded me how…
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Posted by Betty on February 10, 2009 at 11:35pm —
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Bruce's daughter Catherine and I went for a run. Warm for January. We grabbed a bit of sunshine along a dirt road and pushed it until we panted for air. Aside: What kind of crazy makes one believe you can keep up with teenagers?
Catherine and I have a contradictory relationship. I protect her, but she's not my responsibility. She only lived with us part-time. And now that she's a young lady, I'm even less able to keep her from harm. Not that I wouldn't tear out the throat of anyone who laid a h…
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Posted by Betty on February 8, 2009 at 6:00pm —
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Indigo blue twilight. Clear, the half moon shining like snow covering a car's headlamp. And in the west another beacon. A star? No, too big. Planet? The bitter cold seemed to sharpen the shape of celestial things and made me feel close to God. Everything was so clear it felt like I could visit with just enough forward thrust.
Off in the distance a sound dragged me to back to earth. Dogs? No. Coyyyyoteeeeees. Dread squashed the elation of, "Aha!" I remembered that I'm still in the wilderness. An…
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Posted by Betty on February 4, 2009 at 7:30pm —
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I have a few pathways in the snow, about a snow-shovel width, running through snow 2 or 3 feet deep. They lead to the neighbors on both sides. There's another route up the hill to the back of the property where the turkey trail is. And another winds through the flower beds of the front yard, although since I've never seen the yard uncovered in snow, I guess I don't really know. And while blowing snow drifts have camouflaged the real topography of the property from view, I haven't whacked a shin…
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Posted by Betty on January 31, 2009 at 2:30pm —
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What's that expression? "Freedom is another word for nothing left to lose." Do you have to lose everything to feel true freedom? I thought I caught a glimpse of it, just before the sun set. In the twilight I looked back at the house. It was warm. It glowed. And for a moment I thought Bruce was inside. And for a moment, just a moment, my heart lifted. I felt free. The sun set, a shadow moved across the hill. And while the glow burned brighter, I remembered I was alone.
Deep breath, only 3 or 4 m…
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Posted by Betty on January 27, 2009 at 9:00pm —
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