I’m not sure what happened this month, I must have needed to hibernate a little.
Thanksgiving was lovely, quiet at home with M and the fuzzies. I made cranberry sauce on the wood stove,
while the cats took their couch duty job very seriously.
We went to Texas to visit family and were fed and watered and given a baby to hold and tickle – all good things. My flight home was bumpy and slightly delayed but there’s nothing like a holding pattern for a beautiful view.
It’s good to be home. I had two cords of firewood delivered and they need to be stacked. This year the wood may stay in the giant pile under the tarp, given the number of items on my to do list. I’m having to let go to imperfection.
Sometimes while I’m washing dishes I catch myself thinking about firewood, or insulation, or who’s going to plow my driveway, and I wonder who this is, thinking these thoughts. What happened to city girl? I’m happy here with these concerns but I do wonder what happened to the New Yorker part of myself, and where on earth this country girl came from.