Wednesday, February 10

airports and icicles


About 6:30 in the morning yesterday, I was having that airport feeling. You know: a little excitement, a little stress, something forgotten, and one person, at least, who volunteered to drive and wishes she were back in bed. That was me.

So I made tea, rubbed sleepy dogs (grimy! bathtime.), and stared at the snow outside while Tim puttered to a start and got ready to forget to bring his toothbrush. We got about two feet of snow the other day, and roads are rough, but we got going in plenty of time to get him to the airport to catch his flight.

One of the special things about waking up before the sun, is that sometimes you get to see the moon, looking like it's swimming in the sea: luminous beyond believing, glowing in a subtle sky just touched with light. If that were a drink, it'd be the fountain of youth. And I could use a sip of that at 6:30 in the morning.

But I really wanted to show you what is going on outside these days. What I keep pulling the car over to stare at. What we saw many of on the drive to the airport. Icicles. Enormous, painstakingly crafted, and shining in the sun. I keep backing up the car and scooting it around snowdrifts so I don't have to actually get off of my heated car seat and away from my travel tea mug filled to the brim with Pekoe Orange Spice (my winter props,) in order to take a picture.
I did not act like that on the drive yesterday, though. Hardly at all.

And last night a load of more snow fell on us. In fact, it's supposed to keep snowing all day.  My plans include butternut squash soup and bread making, a walk, a pot of tea in the studio while I continue to play up there and be a bit more lighthearted in my artmaking, and Houseboat.

And snuggling with my now-silky, previously grimy dogs that both got a bath last night.