Monday, December 19

banjo, and the beautiful fading of the roses

canon, kodak gold 200 expired film 

I set the alarm early yesterday to go for a frosty walk with lucy and enjoy the morning sun. It gets so dark and cold around here so early and that still feels unexpected. I can't believe the solstice is only in a few days, and then things will start to brighten up again. In the evenings I light a fire and read or clean or work on something, but that transition at dusk is always hard.

We have a busy week ahead of us. But I'm looking forward to it. Meanwhile, I've been cleaning my studio which I've been steering clear of for the past few months. It feels so good to reconnect with myself in there. I am an artist and I feel off to not be making something (besides a baby. You know what I mean. Did I tell you we nicknamed the baby 'banjo' and that banjo is the size of a lime this week?) I shared a bunch more of my artwork here if you've never seen it.

And I've been buying cacti. I keep finding myself at our garden center meticulously inspecting the cacti. I even put 'cacti' on my list for christmas this year, along with a pink geranium which we sorely lack. I have a secret love of crowded and green windowledges at odds with my minimalist leanings. I bought a hanging plant last week called mistletoe cactus, and its hairy legs have begun to bloom at the tips, white and starry like edelweiss.

I used to be all about travel and discovery and change and adventures, but as I grew older I realized that that idea of women having a strong domestic side is so true. I find deep contentment in my house, our things, and how it all seems like a greater extension of myself, my ideas, my dreams, my abilities. It doesn't seem limiting at all. It feels like there are great roots growing down, as I knead over my day and all the tasks that make it up. It feels nourishing, like touching and caring for all that surrounds me is caring for myself. It is wonderful to be a woman.

Amanda shared a post today on having time to watch the flowers grow. It feels so simple and true. Do we have time to do that? To notice those little things and to slow our pace?

I just realized that I've been enjoying watching the flowers die. That sounds morbid but what I mean are those december roses. Frost after frost has hit them and in the golden hour before dusk they still rise, their colors fading, their softnesses folding. They are continuing to be beautiful. I don't think I ever noticed the december roses before this year.