Saying goodbye to the condo

What it may look like

Tomorrow I’m going to fly south through (hopefully) friendly skies.  Over stick-figure tree skeletons way down below.  Perhaps the sun will set through our jet window.  We’ll pass across the snowy vista of the Upper Peninsula and head south across Lake Michigan.  I will peer from the afternoon window and imagine my blogging friend Cindy on Beaver Island.

Staring down through the window, perhaps watching the sun set out of the right side of the airplane, I will look for familiar landmarks in Lower Michigan.  Could that be Traverse Bay?  Could that be Houghton Lake?  Could that be my hometown of Yale in the Thumb out the left?

Of course, it’s all impossible to truly ascertain where a person might be from such an elevated vista.  That lake might be Higgins Lake.  When you think you’re in the Thumb–well, you might be passing Lansing.  Which is OK, because that’s where I graduated from journalism school a thousand years ago.  And where is Ann Arbor down there below this beautiful plane?  That’s where our son attended college a long time ago.  Yes, memories live below the airplane’s path.  Memories of corn fields, long-ago beaches, delightful coffee shops, Chinese restaurants.

Deep January days in the woods

Outside my window right now

Good morning from our little stretch of woods and lake and snow and cold.  Sitting here at this computer I watch lazy flakes of snow silhouetted against black and gray tree limbs.  Yonder brown oak leaves dangle from branches that tenderly hold last years promise.  The snow dusts the branches of an evergreen.  Blue jays call.  The woodstove hums in the basement.  It’s deep January in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

The weather forecasters send chilly spikes into our snowy landscape as they predict plummeting temperatures for the next ten days.  From today’s high of 21F (-6C) we’ll plunge to -14F (-25C) by Sunday night. I plan to wear my long underwear, heavy winter coat and big warm boots until February, at least, every time I venture to town and beyond.

How big can our love be?

Love

I often wonder.

How big can our love be?

Does it stop with ourselves?  Is our love only for our individual human self, our Kathy, our John, our Diana, our Lee Ann, our own precious being wearing this human flesh?

Does our love shine fuller, brighter?  Does it encompass our friends, those who think like we do?  Does it beat swifter for those who seem like us, who resonate, who agree?  Does it wrap its loving blanket around our pals, our best friends, our dear ones, our companions?  Is this sweet love how we recognize the world?

In-between

In-between the woods.

Shhh, dear reader.  Let’s whisper.

Let’s remember.

Let’s lower our voices.

Because this is the in-between time.

It’s in-between Christmas and New Years.

It’s in-between gift-giving and a brand new start.

It’s in-between the old and stagnant–and the unknown.

The Christmas Eve blues

 

Dear Blogging Friends,

I am having one of “those” Christmas Eve moments.  I’m sure some of you have had them too.  Those moments when you’re suddenly feeling blue, out-of-sorts, dismal.  It’s not yet time to open gifties (that’s tomorrow morning in our house) and it’s not yet time to make Christmas Eve dinner to share with one’s husband.  It’s not time to call all the faraway kids and parents and brothers who live in New Jersey, Oregon, lower Michigan and Georgia.

What time is it? you ask.

It’s time to feel the Christmas Eve blues.

Dear Fountainpen,

Tame chipmunk “Chippy” admiring one of your note cards

Dear Fountainpen,

On Sunday we carried our ceramic Christmas tree–the one Barry’s mom crafted for us many years ago–upstairs from the basement.  I discovered some of your hand-crocheted snowflakes and sprinkled them beneath the green tree.

You’ve been my friend since 2009, a blog reader extraordinaire, devouring my stories about trees, nature and our Little House in the Big Woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

On Cattail Pond

 

Some of you may remember the movie “On Golden Pond” that came out in 1981.  Don’t you love the image that name invokes?  A serene pond-lake golden in the sunset.  A pair of loons welcoming the main characters home.  Ahhh, idyllic.