The weather has been strange.  I seems like I say that a lot.  But sometimes, like this winter, it’s particularly strange and I find myself quoting Mark Twain in my head time, time and time again.  “If you don’t like the weather in New England now, just wait a few minutes.”

It keeps freezing and melting, snowing then raining.  One week we have record lows, the next record highs.  Iain and Elijah who are usually big fans of winter have declared this one a dud and are ready to move on to spring.  It was in the low 40′s here the other day and I seriously had to argue with all four of my children to convince them that they could not go outside barefoot.  They were quite convinced that I was being terribly unreasonable.  There was talk of going out and turning the soil in one of their garden beds.  I mentioned that we were supposed to be back in the single digits next week, but they didn’t seem to find that relevant.  The garden is once again under a blanket of snow so presumably out of sight, out of mind at this point.

With all of this melting and freezing, the ice has been terrible.  I’m afraid to go outside.  My hips and ankles are so unstable to begin with that I go through phases where I fall regularly walking on the nice flat, even wood floors of my home.  Things shift just enough out of place so that my feet don’t quite end up landing exactly where 30+ years of experience tell me they should.  So far I’ve always caught myself, with bruised and battered legs and arms to prove it.  But it doesn’t seem wise to take this slapstick show out on the ice.  Instead I go out and pace on the deck several times a day.  I probably look like a caged animal, but it makes me feel better.  I can see my frosty garden, the mountains through the trees and often watch children slipping and sliding and laughing on the ice below.  The fresh air does me good.  Yesterday was the first day that the ice had subsided enough that it felt safe to venture out.  Our road was in pretty good condition, but the path through the woods is still a sheet of ice, so there I had my stopping point while children ventured ahead to explore a bit.  I can live with not going out and about much; not often visiting with others, but not being about to walk around outside does feel like a hardship.

Indoors I’ve been cooking a lot.  Mostly hearty stews and things of that sort.  A friend sent me her recipe for celery soup and I made a big double batch.  I covered chicken and broccoli with the leftovers and baked that the next day.  Served over quinoa cooked in chicken broth, that hit the spot.

Window crayons, for a while the windows in our living room had a “horses of the world” theme.

Knitting, knitting, knitting.  Oh goodness, so much knitting!  At night I plug away at Galen’s birthday sweater, during the day baby knits.  Currently some spring green over-alls, though at the moment they are what Galen refers to as “over-halfs”.  The color is a nice change of pace.  Lately I seem to be stuck on shades of blue.  There has been French blue, robin’s egg blue, baby blue with flecks of cream, medium blue-grey, ice blue, sapphire blue, and uhm, other things that I haven’t gotten pictures of yet.  And before everyone says, “oh it must be a boy!”, the baby is the only one that I haven’t made anything blue for yet.  Though I do have a little button up vest in the softest of baby blues in mind.  These things happen.  A couple of years ago I think I went an entire winter knitting only in combinations of red, grey and brown.

Someone is excited for his birthday next month.

And sewing.  There has been a lot, a lot, a lot of sewing.  Rosebud sits beside me and stitches away with yarn on swaths of burlap.

Our ice rink may have melted all over the front yard.  Twice.  But our usual indoor diversions are thriving….

“Tea Party“ the game.

Drawing time

painting

making music (face crayon decorations optional)

and all sorts of pretend play.

And books of course.  Whatever would we do without books???  I’m currently reading “The Country of the Pointed Firs” by Sarah Orne Jewett.  It’s old-fashioned and quaint and charming, often rather slow and sometimes not.  I think I’m enjoying it.