Eight inches of snow isn’t much where I grew up, but here it grinds things to a halt, and after the flurry of phone calls and texts in the wee hours of the morning, deciding whether to open my agency (Will clients show? Do we want staff on the roads? How much money will we lose and is it worth the risk?) things quiet down and the snow accumulates. Sounds are muffled. The animals snooze. I watch the snow fall, hypnotic and beautiful. I snooze. Candles flicker. Peace.
Most Tuesday nights I rehearse with September Crossing, the fledgling band that my sister and a childhood friend and I have formed. We’ve yet to have our public debut, but we’re enjoying the process, and when we break into three-part harmony an occasional clunker on the strings of our instruments doesn’t matter quite as much. There is something transcendent about making music together. A few weeks ago I heard Brian Eno talk on NPR about how singing is the key to a long life. It’s worth a listen; you can find it here.
Makes perfect sense to me!
The temperature has dipped and the air has cleared, with enough chill to warrant blankets. Over my shoulder I pull the quilt made for me by my paternal grandmother, scraps of fabric of unknown provenance stitched together, more practical than lovely. Such a change a day brings. Just last night I slept fitfully in the clammy air, dreaming of an autumn that never seemed to arrive.
I don’t have many indulgences, but fresh ground coffee beans for my coffee each morning is one of them. Before my shower, and before I’m even awake, really, I stumble to the kitchen, pour beans in the grinder and get the coffee started for the day.
This is also a sign to the kitties to run to the kitchen and line up for treats. Sad are the mornings when I’ve forgotten to stock up on treats- I try to pass off their regular food but they know better and walk away in disdain, tails twitching.
No matter how busy the morning, I try to grab a few minutes by the window, cup in hand, enjoying the first few sips of my morning brew. But the best mornings are the ones with no agenda and no deadline, to savor an entire mug and ease into the day.
Our house has no air conditioning, and day after day of sweltering heat has left us all, the humans and the pets, wilted and longing for coolness. Today the cool air drifted in from the north and we set out at dusk for a walk, the kiss of a breeze on our cheek.