Merry Christmas!

I've finally finished wrapping gifts, and I've unwrapped the ones addressed to me, and now I'm sitting in my old wool bathrobe in front of the fire watching Sugar try and fit in a box half her size while Freckles chases scraps of ribbon and tries to kill some paper with her teeth and claws. It's all very peaceful.

Unlike last year, I will be spending the rest of Christmas day with family (fingers crossed). Even though it means everyone will have to wait for me, I'm not starting until ths sun is up. Rain on the 23rd followed by a freeze last night has turned the driveway into a solid sheet of ice. So . . . I will be installing chains, by myself, on my tires before I make the attempt, and then taking them off, also by myself, when I safely (fingers crossed) reach the bottom.

I hope you all had a really lovely holiday.

One Year

December 22 was the anniversary of my last day as a lawyer, and even though I haven't written about it, I've been thinking about it a lot. I really thought more would have changed in this year. I thought I would have found a purpose. I thought I would have a plan by now. But I don't. After a really lovely, lazy year, I'm still me. Lazy and purposeless and floating through the days in a haze of denial. My hair has more gray. I have two cats instead of one. Distressingly, I think both my pores and my thighs have gotten larger. I've been to SE Asia and read a lot of books and learned how to put mud on drywall. But shouldn't I have done something, learned something, well, grander? Wasn't I supposed to be working on myself? Designing a life?

The bottom line of my savings account is getting very close to the number I told myself would mark the end of this lark, the signal to get serious and get a real job. I know I want to stay in Idaho. I guess that's progress. I'm studying for the Idaho bar, but I still don't really want to be a lawyer, and I honestly don't know if I'll be able to find a job as one. Or any job that pays more than $10/hour when it comes to that. It's not like I'm going out into a great economy. And now I have a big old gap in my resume. It's Christmas Eve and my year is over, but I'm still holding on to it. I'm not ready to let it go. I've loved it too much. Even if it wasn't quite what I imagined.

No Snowman

In case you were curious. Instead I shoveled snow. And shoveled snow. And then? I shoveled some more snow. I don't think I'll be able to pick up so much as a paperclip at work tomorrow. Winter is really healthy. Except for all that shortbread.

Can you see my driveway? Yeah, me neither.

Yesterday, with 6 inches of snow in the driveway, and the flakes falling steadily, I called my boss to let her know that I might not be able to make it in to work today. And then, last night, I heard my neighbor plowing the drive and thought "FOILED!" But that was premature. Becaue I woke up this morning to another 6 inches of fresh snow. And even after someone plows again, I'll have to spend an hour or so digging out the few feet between my car and the area the plow can reach . . . so I'm snowed in. All official like. Yippee!! I really wish I had a sled, or some cross country skis, or snow shoes. I want to bundle up, and go outside and play. I might have to build a snowman or something.

Um . . .yeah. Well.

Remember how on Monday I was so pleased about not being stuck in a snow bank? Well, on Tuesday that little chicken came home to roost but good. Oh, I didn't get stuck in a snow bank. It was better than that.

I was coming home for a little trip to the Post Office and my friendly neighborhood bakery (where I read Contracts and tried not to kill myself from boredom) when, while backing up the final twenty yards of my driveway, in the snow, I sort of . . . drove off the driveway and into the field. Oops! Yeah. I didn't slide off the driveway as I first reported to my mom while I was sitting in the car, thinking "Oh Shit". Oh no. On closer inspection, I realized I didn't turn enough, and just backed straight off the road. In my own defense, everything was white, and it was snowing, and who the hell has depth perception in those conditions? But. Still. I drove off my driveway. After I'd waded up to the house and called AAA, one of those awesome neighbors of mine called to ask if I was stuck, then told me to cancel that AAA bat signal of distress, and pulled me back on the road with his truck. He then traffic directed me all the way back up my driveway and into my carport because clearly I can't be trusted to do it myself.

Needless to say, the whole incident left me feeling a little STUPID and like I never wanted to leave the house (in my car) again. Or at least not until this snow is gone. I had to mask my feelings of incompetence through brisk employment of that snazzy new snow shovel on my porch and the path to the wood pile. It made me feel a little better.

We've gotten at least another 5 inches of snow since I got pulled out of the snowbank (meaning, I'm really getting my money's worth out of that shovel). And this afternoon, after a scintillating three hours of sitting on my butt listening to a Contracts lecture on my ipod, I went for a little walk in the lightly falling snow. Look at the little Santa hat on the grave marker! How festive!(Those are fox tracks in the photo by the way.) I am absolutely loving this snow. (Caveat: When I'm not driving off my driveway.) We're supposed to get another 4-6 inches of snow tonight, and then a few more inches tomorrow. Which is all great, except I'm supposed to work tomorrow. And . . . I still am not over this little trauma of driving off my driveway. And seriously. I don't ever want to leave the house again. It would be wrong to call in "sick", right?

I finally have a snow shovel!

Today I had my first experience with a car stuck in a snowbank. Thankfully it wasn't mine. I woke up this morning to four inches of fresh snow and the threat from weather.com that "this is just the beginning because there are storms piled on storms and holy hell stock up on canned goods because the end is nigh!" Or something like that. I figured with as much as a foot of snow forecast for the next two days, it might be about damn time for me to buy a snow shovel.

So I eased my car down the driveway and into town. I picked up some groceries, then poked on down to the hardware store where I spent some time staring in complete confusion at the 50 different shapes and sizes of snow shovel on offer (they're two aisles down from the cookie sheets in case you're curious) finally grabbed one that looked like it was sort of in the middle of the pack shape and size wise and made a quick stop at the spa (closed on Monday) to get directions to this thing I'm supposed to be going to tonight.

And found Bethanie. Who had gone to our bosses' Christmas party the night before (I had an attack of social anxiety lameness, not to mention irrational terror of the copious amounts of drinking everyone had kept reminding me to expect and had stayed home in my pyjamas watching a marathon of Dirty Sexy Money with Sugar and Freckles. Yes. I am COOL.) and had managed to get her car stuck (in that snowbank I mentioned) on her way down the mountain from our bosses' bachanal. Oops. Armed with a new snow shovel and delusions of my own competence, I offered to take Bethanie back to her car and see if we couldn't get it out of the snowbank our own damn selves. Yeah. We couldn't. Mostly we stared at it. And for some reason the power of our hopes and wishes did nothing to move that damn car. So we called our boss. And he sucked up what was undoubtedly, from all reports, a killer hangover, and like the hip father figure he totally is, he met us in his Astro Van and pulled Bethanie's poor little car out of the snowbank.

And I stood there shivering, with wet feet, thinking . . . I'm really really glad I didn't go to that party. Because, while I really like the people who I knew would be there, I don't really drink much any more. (To be fair, other than a brief period in law school, I never really have. And certainly not when there's any chance I might have to drive.) And is it really fun to be sober around fun drunk people who you know will be getting behind a wheel? I have to say I come down on the side of "no". BUT this thing I'm going to tonight? Isn't so much a party. It's a bunch of women getting together to exchange cookies and maybe drink a hot toddy. It's a gathering. And I love gatherings. Especially with dessert. See, I'm not anti-social, I'm just 80.

Winter Wildlife

On Friday evening, just as it was getting dark, I got an excited voicemail from one of my neighbors telling me to look out my window because there were six elk grazing in the pasture between our houses. Unfortunately, I was working and by the time I got home they were gone. But yesterday I went for a walk and just as I was approaching a bend in the road, two elk leaped across my path. I stopped and watched in awe as a steady stream of them came bounding up from the river and started climbing a ridge where my mother pastured horses before I was born, and where, when I was a child, we had a memorable encounter with a black bear while picking huckleberries one fall. I lost count at 15, and they just kept coming. There must have been at least 40. I was both too startled and too slow to get a decent picture. Can you even see them in the trees?

On a smaller scale, but just as startling, I saw this tiny creature skittering through the snow 15 yards or so from my front door when I set out for my winter walk. Guess what direction he was traveling? It had never occurred to me that spiders could survive in the open in such cold. He made good time. By the time I saw him on my return trip he'd covered about half the distance to my significantly cozier home (where, sadly, he'd find plenty of other creatures to keep his strength up until spring when I wouldn't feel so evil about banishing him back outside).

Why didn't anyone warn me that shortbread was a bad idea?

I've been shoving it in my mouth non-stop since it came out of the oven on Monday. (Ok, I waited for it to be cool enough to cut.) I really don't understand. Shortbread has never been my thing. I've never made it before, it's the last cookie I turn to in a cookie assortment, I've certainly never paid money for a piece of it and yet, for some reason, I am now turning up my nose at the tub of fudge sitting next to it in favor of these tiny squares of crumbly, buttery sweetness. I'm completely addicted. I'm eating it for breakfast right now. It's almost as if the demerara sugar I sprinkled on top was secretly replaced with small rocks of honey-colored crack at some point when I wasn't looking. (And if that is the case thank god the sentencing guidelines have finally been lowered, because I have sent this stuff THROUGH THE MAIL people and I'd prefer my stint in a federal prison be as brief as possible thankyouverymuch.)

It's definitely starting to feel like Christmas

I made fudge yesterday, and cream cheese mints this evening. I was really feeling more like bed and a book than an hour rolling little balls of yummy goodness in sugar, but I put my Netflixed copy of Die Hard (the original) into the DVD player to get me in the proper spirit. What? It's totally a Christmas movie! Now I just have to make some shortbread in the morning and my first round of Christmas cheer will be ready to package up and entrust to the USPS. Except I haven't written any cards to go with the candy. Do you think people will mind?

I Hurt

Just so you all aren't picturing me in a beautiful snowy wonderland, I should let you know that Tuesday, the day after the big snowfall, the temps reached the high 30s and it rained all that night, melting most of the snow and making everything (very much including my driveway) muddy and gross.

BUT! Not all the effects of the snow have disappeared this week. Oh no. One, very personal reminder, lingers. I actually pulled on my completely inadequate footwear and went out on Monday and shoveled the dense, wet, very very heavy snow (using a normal shovel, because of course I haven't gotten a snow shovel yet) and now, almost a week later, I still ache. Isn't that pathetic? The muscle soreness is finally gone but my neck/shoulder region is seriously janked. (I know, I should take advantage of the spa discount and get a massage. But . . . it feels strange to get a massage from someone I work with. Brow waxing? Facial? No problem! But a massage just seems too . . . I don't know. Something. It's my own hangup. The therapists are always getting massages from each other, so I know I'm being stupid. I'm sure I'll get over it before this little interlude in my life ends.) Of course, the fact that the snow had mostly disappeared the day after I had killed myself shoveling it out of my way just adds the proper coda of wasted effort to the physical discomfort.

Valley County Scene

I took my garbage to the solid waste transfer station this afternoon. Dangling from the rafters of the gatehouse was a dead coyote. I don't know if it had been caught in a trap, or hit by a car, or shot. And I didn't stick around to ask. I kept my head down, tossed my bags in the dumpster, and got the hell out of there.

Definitely NOT snowed in

Because one of my awesome neigbors is plowing my driveway as I type. Thank god I'd just finished baking cookies so I could give him something in return. It's really not nearly enough. When I ran out in the snow to give them to him, and thank him, he said "Well, we're all in this together!" Which, yeah. But some of the "we" who are in this are fucking useless and end up relying on the rest of the "we" a whole hell of a lot more than the useless part of the "we" is entirely comfortable with.

Snowed in?

Maybe. I'm not sure. It's possible that I could get down my driveway without getting stuck, but I have grave doubts that I would be able to make it back up. Luckily, I don't need to try. Because I have nowhere I need to go!

A classic winter storm has been hammering the Oregon coast for the past few days, with winds gusting over 80 miles an hour and buckets of rain. (Poor Zach lost power in the middle of a game of literati yesterday afternoon, and the power was still out when he got home from work last night.) That same system reached my little corner of the world while I was sleeping. I woke up to five new inches of snow (on top of the three we got yesterday), and a power outage of my own. But I was prepared. I'd filled my lamps with oil, baked bread, and made a big pot of squash and bean soup that I can reheat on the wood stove if necessary. But so far it hasn't come to that. I made my tea on the wood stove and read Sales by lamp light and just as I was starting to think that it was awfully quiet without my usual background of NPR, the power was back. And I stopped reading Sales and got on the internet to check the forecast (and blog).

Of course, I'm not entirely prepared for this storm. I still don't have boots. Or a snow shovel. But I have fresh bread! And lots of books! And now that the power is back, I can make cookies! Who needs a snow shovel when one has cookies and atmospheric mystery novels?