I know. I know.
Monday, January 26, 2009
It seems all I do is write about the weather and tonight is no exception.
The ice and the snow and sleet and the rain-it's all here. Right now. Howling outside my door.
I've already eaten my supper, put on my PJs, performed my ablutions and slathered on face cream. The contacts have come off and the slippers put on.
My favorite corner of the couch awaits with an afghan to pull over me and a book to read. I'll add to the mix a glass of wine or four and let the weather bedevil someone else.
All my little ducks are in their rows. The boys are off the treacherous roads and have got the LEGO (LEGOs?) out again. (this post spelled correctly and thank you for not calling me out on it in the last one) The dogs are lolling by the fire.
Maybe I talk so much about the weather because it is ingrained in me.
Granny would talk about the loads of laundry she did or how many cans of beans she put up that day. Some days she'd chronicle a trip that she and Grandpa would take to Portia or Jonesboro or just write about a run to the Piggly Wiggly.
But every single day Granny's diaries detailed the sweltering temperatures or lack of rain. She'd start off every entry with the temperature and the time of sunrise. She'd confer with Grandpa about what the colors painted in dusk sky were telling her and what it meant for the weather tomorrow.
I'm not that prolific. And I hold no illusions that anybody would want to read a detailed account of my day.
I'm drawn to those old bibles and calendars and journals and scraps of paper that she's kept all these years.
So even if I don't chronicle my day and I've never put up a can of anything, I am connected to her by the weather.
It inspires me. I feel compelled to say something. I need to put fingers to keyboard in gratitude that I have a warm, dry, comfy, loving home.
Maybe I feel it most keenly when the winds howl and the sleet bombards my roof.
Waxing poetic? Philosophical? Legs?
Well, I'm off now. The book awaits as I go ahead and sip the wine.
I'm betting Granny is writing about the ice, too.
I can't wait to read about it.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The house is shaking.
I have smoke in the living room and I trip as make my way through.
...Leggo, train sets, (thus the smoke) and Lincoln Logs. They get dragged out when buddies spend the night.
I have two extra boys tonight which means blowing up the air mattress.
You might think I'm complaining but you'd be mistaken.
I love the noise and laughter that wake me up at 2 in the am.
I bitch and moan because the gallon of milk I bought yesterday is gone today. I refuse to buy any more pop because I find half finished cans laying around the house. I roll my eyes as I listen to them complain that there is nothing in the house to eat, when in reality there is tons. They just don't want to bothered to actually cook anything.
Again. If you think I'm complaining, you'd be mistaken.
I deal with nasty hair, smelly feet and dirty clothes that suddenly appear out of nowhere needing to be washed.
But I love it.
I think the good Lord knew what he was doing when he blessed me with boys. Girls have too much drama and are too high maintenance.
I know because I am one. There is enough estrogen in this house with just me.
I'm thinking tonight about how loud silence can be and how piercing it will be when they are gone.
So I gladly bang on the wall in the middle of the night to quiet Rock Band and signal them to get to bed because we have church tomorrow.
I know what I'll give thanks for when I get there.
Posted by Sugar Britches at 7:04 PM