Tuesday, January 7, 2014
winter wonderabout land
I wasted an hour this morning looking for a picture of me taken when I was seven as I sat on a huge bank of drifted snow in front of our tiny 1950s country house. It's the time of the year when those of us who live in the northern hemisphere can bore each other for hours about just how deep the snow used to get and 'if you think this is cold' stories. Of course the snow was deeper when you were only three feet tall and it was colder too when you were sent outside to play for at least an hour most days. Yes, it's winter again as you can see from this picture of Crow who was barely visible enough to sketch as we braved one of our recent Maritime blizzards. We would have stayed home, like all sensible people, but for a sale on cases of his favorite brandy that I got to carry. That's what friends are for, right? He was good enough to share later on as we thawed out by the fireside in his library.
The only problem I have now is that it appears I waited too long to buy my favorite watercolor paper as the only real art supply store in town has temporarily sold out. Only two pieces left to last me for two weeks so I guess I'd better make good use of them.
Meanwhile, I'll leave you with another short story I found and a picture of one of our neighbors, a lady who knows how to keep herself and her friend comfortable in cold weather.
A new monk arrived at a monastery where the brothers spent their time making copies of ancient texts. Saying he wanted to make copies of the originals to avoid duplicating errors that might have been made, he went down the cellar stairs.
Several hours later the monks, wondering where their new friend was, finally found him weeping in the deepest vault. When they asked him what was the matter he answered, 'The word is celebrate, not celibate.'