Even on days that I’m not writing here, I’m still writing here. In my mind, at least. I think of this space several times a day. I have many things to tell you — to tell myself — mostly small, mundane things that don’t matter much, but are fun to share.
Things like my family surprised me with a cello for Hanukkah! (Yes, I wanted one; no, I don’t know how to play one.)
That we tasted our first, homemade, aged cheeses this week and they tasted good. Really good. Good like we’d buy that cheese for a ridiculous price at the co-op if they sold it. Which they don’t. Yet.
That one of the deep pleasures of my day is taking a bucket filled with hot water out to the goats on these early frozen mornings and watching them jockey for position so they can get to the bucket first. A pleasure that’s only increased when I add a little molasses to the water and watch them lick their lips in happiness after taking long, slow draughts.
That taking a walk in the woods with the dog while listening to Melvyn Bragg talk about almost anything can help turn my mood from December grey to April green.
And that, in 15 minutes, I get to go pick up my girl from school and give her the hug I’ve been wanting to give her all day long.