It’s Saturday morning, and I have a moment to think. There are patches of sun covering the snowy front lawn and the brittle branches of the bush waving back and forth outside my kitchen window makes me think that at eight degrees fahrenheit, I am the owner of an optomistic weather thermometer.
Looks like another day of hibernation for me. Another day to scan the cookbooks on my baker’s rack searching for inspiration…what to make for dinner tonight? But before I can think about that, there are breakfast dishes in the sink already, a dishwasher that needs to be emptied, and another load of laundry to put on.
I remember not six months ago, secretly hoping for a rainy day to cancel swim lessons at the pool so that I could have time to accomplish these basic chores that were piling up around the house. And more recently, wasn’t I just complaining about the quick pace of the holiday season? How I barely had any time at all to bake a single sugar cookie?
Mother Nature has a way of giving us what we want, what we need — doesn’t she? And for me that’s permission to recuperate, to linger here at my kitchen table watching swirls of snow dust blow across the icy street.