A Shot in the Arm

The end of the winter holidays is always a little sad. Anticipation of celebration and time away from work fuels the days from early November until the last of December. And then? And then. 

Even so, we find our way forward: longer days and the promise of a new year glimmer on the path ahead illuminating the way through winter and into spring. At school, our classes become communities, and at home, movies and dinners and trips to the beach offer fun and distraction.

But this year leaving the holidays behind and heading back to the long days of online teaching weighs heavily and just putting one foot in front of the other feels so hard. And what is there to look forward to?  

All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

The only thing that motivated me to get up and out on this cold, wet day was the promise of trying out the new rain gear I got for Christmas. I figured if I wanted to spend time outside every day, in this neck of the woods I would need to be prepare for rain. So I suited up to take the dog for a walk this evening-- slicker, boots, AND the new pants, all cinched and velcroed for maximum dryness. Heck, I even put a raincoat on Lucy. And when we stepped out into the drenching 38 degree rain, and the wind caught the waterproof nylon of my jacket, I was nothing but comfy cozy and ready to venture forth.

Lucy? Had other ideas. Once she had completed her short to do list, just a number one and a number two, rather than putting her tail up ready to prance through the foul weather, as I was, she strained on her leash and pulled in the direction of home. We didn't get too far before I gave in. Even dressed for the weather as I was, I could see the reason in her request.

The Beholder

Thursday is recycling day in our complex, and today, the first Thursday since Christmas was a big day on the curb. The rule is everything must be out no earlier than 6 and no later than 9 A.M. so when I took Lucy for her first out of the day, we walked by several brown bags filled with cans and bottles and many, many broken-down boxes. The one that caught my eye? Barbie's Dream Camper, tucked between an empty case of wine and a Chewy box. 

Fifty years ago Barbie's Country Camper, orange and yellow with a cool California vibe, was parked under our Christmas tree. In retrospect, I know it was meant to be my wow gift, everything any eight-year-old girl might ever dream of for the holiday, something so amazing I never knew I wanted and so never asked for. But I was not a Barbie kind of a little girl, and so I was a little underwhelmed. My friends thought it was amazing, though, and I understood how lucky I was to have received such a thing, bragged about it a little even. 

By where the box was placed, I knew exactly what little girl in our neighborhood got the camper under her tree this Christmas. She's a pistol of a 6-year-old kid, all go go go in her pink and purple sneakers and tutus. 

I wonder if she liked her camper.

Fulfilling the Promise of the Gifts

I got a few fun things for the holidays-- among them a hand-forged Japanese bread knife and some copper canelé molds. Just preparing to use those beautiful tools as they were meant to be has given shape to the last few days.

First, feeding the sourdough levain for the bread, coaxing it back to life after a week in the refrigerator, then weighing, mixing, turning, resting, raising, forming, fermenting, and baking the loaves with the anticipation of finally using my knife to slice through them without crushing or tearing has been very gratifying.

Likewise, scraping vanilla beans and steeping them in milk, whisking eggs and sugar and butter and flour together, tempering the mixture with the hot vanilla milk and stirring in dark rum all so the batter can sit in the fridge for 48 hours until it will be time to coat my molds with a combination of beeswax and butter before filling them to bake into that classic French confection of crackly caramelized crust and tender custard within has also been a fine way to spend my time.

The Power of Words

 Lucy was not sure at all about the family approaching us on the trail this afternoon. Catching sight of the four of them with their adorable dog, she tensed and let out a low growl. 

"Look!" called one of the little girls. "That dog looks like a big version of Boomer!"

She was right, our dogs did resemble each other.

"Awwwwww," her sister and mom responded. "She's so cute!"

It must have been the tone of voice, or perhaps it was the sheer admiration, that disarmed Lucy, but whatever it was, she relaxed her shoulders, lifted her tail, and pranced happily past.

"Have a great hike!" the dad said us as we passed him on the trail. Boomer just wagged his tail.

Then, Again

One of the more humorous scenes in WW84 involves a character who suddenly finds himself 66 years in the future. To him, 1984 is an amazing place, full of wonders including pop tarts and parachute pants. There are also many confusing things as well, such as the stationary bike in the place where he's staying. "I couldn't figure out how to get it going," he reports sheepishly.

I thought of that scene tonight on my walk through the neighborhood. After winding through a residential section admiring the holiday lights twinkling in the spring-like evening air, I headed down to the shops and restaurants at the bottom of the hill. There I passed a gym with a half dozen power spinners out on the pavement. The dance pop hit "Believe" by Cher blasted through the speakers as a single sweaty rider pumped the pedals in gym shorts, muscle tank and tube socks. 

A time traveler from 1984 probably wouldn't have too many questions about that.

Relative Heat

I never bothered to put my coat on when I took the dogs out and then packed the car this morning-- it's amazing how balmy 33 degrees feels after spending a few hours in 22 yesterday!