Writing Day

"Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius."

-Pietro Aretino

Began my day crunching across the dusting of snow on the grass, dragging trash barrels down to the curb before dawn. We're expecting partly cloudy and low 30s today, so the white stuff should hang around until it starts dumping in heaps, likely tomorrow or the next day.

Today the bill comes due for spending yesterday decorating for the holidays instead of finishing this brief. I made huge progress on it before leaving town on Wednesday to spend Thanksgiving with the kids in Boston, so perhaps this won't be so onerous. Still, I dread racing a deadline to create content fit for filing with the court of appeal. I used to really enjoy this. Another sign of the vocational season, I suppose.

Yesterday, Sunday, was in fact quite fun, at least at times. P and I snip a little when we're decorating the Christmas tree, a holiday tradition of discord that lies in disagreements over important issues like whether the male or female electrical connection for the lights should be at the apex or the base of the tree (I mean, of course the male should be at the bottom, closest to the outlet, shouldn't it? Apparently this is not a unanimous view of the problem).

But finally it was done, and P changed into something more holiday-festive, then poured two glasses of brut rose so I could bump her elbow right after I took this picture and spill some of the contents of one glass across her lap and the antique couch.

For some reason, I can feel time racing past us on this fifth (!) Christmas we've spent in Corning. In the midst of all this political angst, and the two of us trying to navigate a somewhat disorienting time of our lives together, we have each other. A voice in my head keeps whispering that this isn't forever, and there will be a day when one of us will look out at this frosty dusk alone.

We need to savor this part.

Peg made me go put on something red because it's Christmas and all. Well, advent. I just didn't have anything purple handy, or sarum blue for that matter. So red it is.

And we need to value our days in this rickety old house. She sure cleans up nicely for the holidays.

Time to start writing for pay.

And so it goes.