Slow Day in December

by Hannah

Long, dreary day. Had trouble getting out of bed and the day just slid down into the mudpit after that. Perhaps I put a just a wee bit too much emotional effort into things. Just glad to be home with my Pinot Noir, is all.

It’s getting chilly in southern Vermont, finally. I can drive up the driveway (after 6pm or so) without risking the sure slip into the ditch from all this mud. It’s like late March, but without the maple sap.

Not that I’m complaining. Still got much to much to do before the projects get covered in a lasting layer of snow and are left until spring. Finish piping the water in, get that greywater system figured out, dug and graveled, pick out a sink (afford it) and install…Then there’s the pile of crap that generally hides in one’s garage, but just looks like crap in our yard. That should be covered. And the goats, they really do deserve proper winter shelter. And the roosters, we really do desire them in the freezer. God, save me from another emergency slaughtering at 3am. That was not what I would call a good death. It wasn’t brutal, but it didn’t feel great, either. Rather not do that again.

Got weekend plans? I am excited about a good family Saturday night evening, followed by a Sunday where I will clean this difficult week right out the door. Literally. I am getting rid of that excess furniture, washing the floor, doing all the laundry, and buying myself a houseplant for my new writing desk. I really wanted to buy this today:

I’m going to check the used book store next week. I am absolutely certain that the state of my home – down to the placement of houseplants and the direction my bed faces – affects my physical health and my moods. Any stories out there about this?