The wind must have shifted just enough last night to keep the whole town up. Pearl was pacing all night long. It sounds like thunder and feels like an earthquake to her. Naturally, she's in deep dreamland now. On the way to Morning Muscles lawn chairs skittered down the icy road, and I almost ran into a big spruce tree that the wind had knocked down across Tower Road.
Listening to the forecast is humbling. It's supposed to stay this windy (50 mph or so) and pretty cold (warmer, like 18) until Friday. They are playing hockey at the rink and the ice is good on Rutzebeck Lake. (But be careful, as always.) The ski club has set tracks at 25 mile, where there's lots of snow. ( The dividing line between ice coated town and a winter wonderland of snow is about four-mile.) The sun and the fire are keeping the living room cozy.
"In skating over thin ice, safety is our speed." Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Last night, over black-eyed peas, greens, and corn bread-- New Year's good luck food, we five women friends talked about faith, spirits, and a clairvoyant some of us had visited when she came to Haines a few years ago. (Our spouses watched the football game.) It was a rambling talk around my mother's old table that veered between the known and unknown, life and death, the great beyond, God and no God, music or flames, all of it. And it wasn't depressing even though two of the friends had lost young sons in tragic accidents.
We are almost back to normal. With Christmas and New Year's falling on Thursdays the last two weeks have been kind of manic-- on and off again-- celebrate and get to it-- and today we are sort of on again-- it is a work day before one final (sort of) holiday weekend.
Maybe it's the lack of snow, or my eyes, but is sure seems darker than usual. Still, it's nice that Margaret is at the radio station at six to keep us company. Pearl and I stayed in bed and listened to the news while Chip leaped up and did his stretches and worked out above the garage. It was so comfortable that I re-read another Christmas book, A Child's Christmas in Wales, by Dylan Thomas.
Forgive me for singing the Sound of Music's "Climb every mountain..." but that's where I am at after walking up Mt. Riley the other day with Chip. (His first time since the accident.) We hadn't planned on it, but I did bring a pack with chocolate, water, hand warmers and some extra layers, just in case it was colder up on top. This is when it is good to be a little over prepared. We also wore ice gripping boots (he had on his cleated goat hunting boots and I my micro-spikes) and took the poles, because you never know.
...I give to you three little Christmas pictures from Juneau.