The early morning light builds up against the window, seeps in through the closed blind and leaves a band of light on the framed picture. This is the light I see when I wake up, tempered light--a feeling of possibility, the world in full when I pull up the blind. The snow is knee-deep and clean.
J. is trekking through Walden Woods; I'm inside near the hot radiators. All during this cold spell the house had been frigid, many of the radiators icy, the rest luke warm. I blamed my feeling the cold so instensely on being older and unused to cold winters because of spending time in Florida. You know that old expression about blood thinning out. What a medieval notion. We burned a lot of wood. It turns out that the new burner was incorrectly installed. Three men worked on it most of Friday, and now our house is habitable.
I'm making gingerbread cookies, fruitcake bars and "Holiday Snack Mix" to give as gifts, the bars and snack mix from recipes from David Lebovitz's blog, the best food blog ever. The oven will be on most of the day. I'm wearing the sturdy pink apron my son bought for me years and years ago. There's pepper in the snack mix recipe, and I will put a few drops of lemon extract in the gingerbread frosting: it is necessary to check the cloying notes, to cut sweetness.