Socked In

"It takes a lot of time to be a genius. You have to sit around so much, doing nothing, really doing nothing." - Gertrude Stein

January is sluggish and dreamy. I've reached the point in the winter where my industrious worker bee ways are mired in a soupy fog of cold, sleepiness, and the desire for reflection. There are projects and ideas for projects whirling in my mind as always, but my body and spirit are saying, "Not now." Oh, bless you January, you inherently restful and philosophical month. The flurry of holidays is over and spring's call to sew seeds of all sorts is months away. Here in January I have time to think about what I've done, what I want to do next and what it all means. Here in January, I notice the quiet thoughts that I often miss when I'm busy. I have fully given myself permission to loaf.

January is the quintessential month of being. Perhaps it's because, as Garrison Keillor so eloquently put it on last night's A Prairie Home Companion, "nature is trying to kill us," and our goals become no more ambitious than surving the weather. Whatever the case may be, I wish myself and all of you a completely unproductive rest of the month.

The Strangeness of Dreams

Last night I dreamed that I was on a road trip with my mother, my co-worker Dorothy and two other women that I don't know. I'm not sure who was driving, but my mother and I were in the back seat of a red convertible driving through the desert. We were listening to a radio station that played old country music songs and singing along. Then a song by Johnny Cash came on that I didn't know.

I've been thinking about that song all morning, although I am able only to access the vaguest suggestion of what it sounded like. I have become fixated on the strange conclusion that I draw from this experience: either my subconscious mind knows songs that my conscious mind does not or my dreaming brain has the capacity to create new Johnny Cash songs.

Things Your Children Do When You Aren't Watching

This is one of my favorite moments of 2008 and I wasn't even there to witness it. This occured when we were visiting Chicago on Labor Day weekend (remember warm weather?). We were waiting at Hegewisch station for the South Shore Line to take us into the city. The adults were on the platform and the kids were in the shelter. Ellis' dance moves are amazing and I'm grateful to Nate for his video skills in capturing this.

One more hymn to the darkness before the light returns...

Back on my birthday I vowed never to not be distracted from the beauty on the West River Parkway during my evening commute. Shortly after that, the position of the northern hemisphere in relation to the sun, coupled with the end of daylight savings time, plunged my commute into darkness. At first I was unsure how I would keep to my guiding principle when I could barely see and when my affect had also sunk into darkness as happens each year when I'm starved for sunlight. I thought my main goal would have to be to avoid a crash, literally and figuratively. However, as we come around the bend of the winter solstice and the light is about the return, I can safely say that the commute remains beautiful, even in the dark. Here's a list of a few of the things I noticed:

1. The new 35W bridge glows like a beautiful blue wave lit up by LED lights.

2. The stainless steal walls of the Weisman Museum shimmer like an ice palace.

3. The west bank of the University of Minnesota stands like a dark fortress on the bluffs above the river. It reminds me of William Blake's "dark satanic mills" - in a good way.

4. Joggers with reflective tape provide a trippy sort of black light show.

5. The river now frozen and snow covered enough to reflect light reminds me that even big and mighty things must sleep.

C is for Christmas, C is for Craft

The best thing that has happened for me this holiday season has been the final clearing of junk in our fourth bedroom that has now become my workroom. Add to that wonderful space a new, functional sewing machine and I am in heaven this season. One of my first projects was some bibs for Charlie: some in reversible flannel, some with a cozy chenille backing. Thanks to Chickpea Sewing Studio for the pattern:
http://chickpeastudio.typepad.com/chickpea_sewing_studio/2008/01/chickpea-infant.html

I have also sewn initial ornaments for each of the boys for a stocking stuffer.

Finally, I knit stockings for each of us, stamped our names on canvas and sewed on the name tags. Some of us got special finishing touches. I call this one, "Death Takes a Holiday." Ellis worries that Santa will not fill Nate's stocking because he will think that it's a Halloween decoration. I assure him that Santa is familiar with teenagers.

What Does Snow Taste Like?

"Wish water. You make a wish and then you eat the snow and your wish falls from the sky."

-Ellis, age 5

December Morning

The failure of the Civic to start on yesterday's below zero morning had to do with more than a dead battery. While the mechanics tried to figure out today what is wrong with the old car's electrical system, I took the bus to work. The temperatures climbed slightly above zero and the sun was shining for the first time in days. The golden glow of the sun sitting low on the horizon and the crisp wet air sublimating off the snow inspired me to grab my camera and make the most of my day sans auto.

Today reminded me that until about seven years ago, I didn't own a car. Life where your major means of trasportation are bus and your own two feet causes you to know your surroundings in an entirely different way than when you are driving. You have a more intimate understanding of your environment on a micro level. The city, once a ribbon of highways, becomes a collection of small details.