Ah, here it is. The first real day of the new year. The one where the alarm went off, and I really had to get up. And I really have to go to the studio, not to do extra stuff, but to do the real stuff.
That two week holiday? Well, it fell a little short, if you want to know the truth. I always imagine we can do so much more…more day tripping, more home organizing, more project developing, more reading, more pajama daying. We did some, but I’m not feeling refreshed and renewed. I do feel rested, so one out of three isn’t bad.
I did organize closets and cupboards. And my computer bookmarks. I made progress on a new project. We went to a new nature preserve, and to San Francisco. I read one short book (Anne Lamott’s Stitches). We finished binge watching Mad Men and we saw a few other movies. We went to a New Year’s Eve party and I was sparkly (that’s new for me..and we stayed until 12:05 a.m. and we had a good time). We made three kinds of soup (four if you count my mom’s turkey soup, and five if you count the cioppino Steve made for Christmas). I took one nap, a few walks and generally wore my pjs (a sign of mental health in my book) until noon on most days. And that was it.
I have been pondering resolutions, and the only two I could come up with (besides the biggie, which is always to lose weight) was to learn how to poach an egg and to tip better, especially counter help.
The weather. It worries me, to tell you the truth. Kate is in Chicago, and she sends me pictures of herself at the bus stop, and even her eyeballs look cold. Today it’s so cold there, that the entire city is asked to stay indoors.
Meanwhile, here in northern California, it is 65 degrees and sunny, every single day. We’re used to that, but we also get some rain, just so we can pretend it’s winter here. Last year we had 5 inches (compared to an average of 22 inches). It hasn’t rained in a month, and even then it was .79 inches. Which makes for a lovely life…but it’s not right. We can walk anywhere without a coat (and have to roll up our sleeves), sit outside to drink coffee in the sun, and continue to live without an umbrella (yes, I am a wild woman that way). But it’s weird. And creepy. And I feel unsettled and a little frightened.
Yesterday Steve and I drove out to the Cache Creek Nature Preserve (which was closed) and everything was so dry and brittle, it reminded me of being in a science fiction movie. I saw a whole field of dead baby trees. There’s a difference between dormant and dead, I just didn’t recognize it until yesterday. When it’s dormant, you can feel the plants being nurtured silently. It doesn’t feel like that. It feels too quiet, too still. You know when your kids are quiet in the next room, and you love the silence, but you know it means trouble? That. It’s like that.
My friend Dave, who is the grand pooh-bah of water in Sacramento, says the water folks have a look of panic in their eyes. Folsom Lake, which isn’t beautiful (at least to me) when it’s full, looks like desert terrain. I see a few buds on the trees, and they remind me of the anxious guest at a surprise party, who pops out too early and ruins the big reveal. Instead of being delighted, I am feeling anxious myself.
I don’t know where this is going, or how to tie this up neatly. It’s January 6, 2014. Going to work, under blue skies, worried a bit about my girl who doesn’t need worrying about. Worried a bit about planet earth, and I think she does deserve some worrying. I wonder how long it will take for me to get the boxes of Christmas decorations from the hallway to the garage? And if we will ever finish our 1000 piece puzzle (which seems to be about halfway done). If I put it away intact, it would give us a head start next year.
Which is one way to begin I guess. Just not the way I envisioned.