It's hard to feel.... guilty? funny? odd?.... about keeping in the kitchen and listening to holiday tunes when it's turned thirty degrees outside when it's warm and there's a foot of snow. Even when it's not yet officially the middle of November.
So, here we are.
Listenin' to big band and verra old Christmas and winter wonderland songs, baking bread, feeling so happy about "Baby It's Cold Outside" and "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow".
There's a twenty foot high hillside two houses away from us that their daddy has strategically padded and engineered for them a Jump point. So, 'course that's been visited daily. Sometimes made that much more delicious with coats and mittens warmed in the dryer--whether they're dry or someone just wants to hear another little someone sigh and shudder in blissful pleasure.
The carpets are holding surprising cold and wet patches, and every so often one might slip unsuspecting across the wood kitchen floor. But mostly it only causes a shout of laughter and acts as a reminder to be a bit more mindful, and enjoy yourself.
The lamps are turned on early now, and I'm reminded how fast daylight goes until the Solstice, and how very very slow the return of the sun is once December is gone.
But it's early, now, and mostly I've been spending my time sighing over the delight of warm, multi-colored socks and the idea that I have all the time in the world.
Tickets to Christmas Vacation, starting in five minutes. In the livingroom.
That's my cue, then.
Love to all.